


this gray spirit yearning

by kaielle



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Court Politics, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Gay Edward Elric, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, bc i am very sappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaielle/pseuds/kaielle
Summary: Ed and Ling haven't seen each other in half a decade. Which makes it all the more staggering when Ling shows up out of the blue and asks him to marry him. For the sake of his country, that is.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao, mentions of Mei/Alphonse and Winry/Paninya
Comments: 147
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Tennyson's _Ulysses_ :
> 
> "How dull it is to pause, to make an end,  
> To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!  
> As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life  
> Were all too little, and of one to me  
> Little remains: but every hour is saved  
> From that eternal silence, something more,  
> A bringer of new things; and vile it were  
> For some three suns to store and hoard myself,  
> And this gray spirit yearning in desire  
> To follow knowledge like a sinking star,  
> Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."

Ed's sitting at Pinako's kitchen table, sipping tea from a chipped mug in the middle of the night. It's one of the bad nights, with dreams full of familiar faces that have vanished from the waking world, desperate hands reaching out to him that never manage to touch. The fifth anniversary of the Promised Day looms over him, cold and heavy. Two more days and it will have been half a decade since he took down a god and made the sacrifice of his life. Since he atoned for the mistake of his youth and made things right for Alphonse. Since everything changed. He drags a calloused hand down his face, his eyes heavy and feverish with lack of sleep. Al's train arrives from Xing in the early afternoon, so at least he has that to look forward to. At least he won't have to smile through this alone.

A creak sounds from the back porch and Ed shoots to his feet, sliding the knife sheathed on his forearm down into his palm. (Winry designed the blade mechanism after she witnessed him try to transmute his arm out of habit too many times and fluster when he remembered his alchemy was gone. This way his forgetfulness won't get him killed.) He creeps over to the door and presses himself to the narrow patch of wall beside it, watching shadows move behind the pane of glass set in the wood and shift across the kitchen floor. The doorknob jangles. Ed pulls his blade back into a fighting stance.

The lock clicks and the door opens, a shadowed silhouette stepping across the threshold. Ed darts out behind them and presses the tip of his blade to the middle of their back, right behind a kidney, his other hand grabbing them by the juncture of their neck and shoulder. Half a second later he breathes in a scent, skin and washed linens and loam and bar soap, faint but bold in its familiarity. He releases his hold on their neck to flip the light switch.

"Not the warm welcome home I was expecting," Alphonse says, his hazel eyes squinting in the sudden light.

Ed sighs, the adrenaline coiled tightly inside of him releasing with dizzying quickness. "You idiot, I coulda killed you."

Al snorts and drops his suitcase by his feet. "Sure you could've."

Ed rolls his eyes and jerks his forearm up, slipping the blade down the back of his hand onto the track that slides it into its sheath.

"Wasn't your train supposed to get here in the afternoon?" he asks, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

Al smiles, that same sweet, doe-eyed grin from when they were boys. A simple, lovely sort of happiness drifts over Ed to see it, just like always. He never thought he'd see that smile again, not with his brother's face turned to immobile metal, not with all the long years of horror they barely survived. He doesn't believe in miracles, but there is something wondrous about it. That something gold _can_ stay.

"We wanted to surprise you," Al says, and Ed can't resist smiling back at him. Then he registers what Al said.

He cocks his head to the side, his brows knitting together. "We?"

Another figure steps from the shadowy porch into the doorway, the kitchen light falling over him. He's gotten taller, Ed thinks, dismayed. The angles of his face are slightly sharper, and what little boyishness that had remained in his body at fifteen is completely gone, the lines of his shoulders broader and harshly defined. Ed used to crack jokes about how all the food he ate was going to make him soft once he became emperor and spent all his days glued to a throne. Now Ed’s forgotten humor altogether.

"I'd say we succeeded," Ling says, grinning wide and bright.

Ed's heart falls to his feet.


	2. Chapter 2

He shoves down all the sentimental bits of memory that flood forward all at once, ignores the hot, bruised feeling in his chest. He refuses to let these bastards get the better of him.

"I'm more annoyed than surprised,” he grouses. “It's the middle of the fucking night.”

"You were already up," Al says, seeing right through him like always and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "I saw you through the window."

"It's—" Ed sighs heatedly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's the principle of it!"

"Ah, Edward Elric's principles. The dearest companions of my youth," Ling says dreamily.

Ed glares at him. "Isn't there a country you're supposed to be running? How the hell are you here?"

"Well," Ling starts, numbering things off on his fingers, which is never a good sign. "The gossips in the court are saying that I've contracted a flu, and the people in Wángguàn Village believe I'm recovering from an assassination attempt, and the farmer's daughter on the hill is running around telling people I'm in a deep meditative state, trying to connect with my own divinity to better serve the people."

"We stuffed a dummy in his bed, paid off a doctor, and told people not to disturb His Imperial Majesty under penalty of death," another voice says. Ed turns toward it and finds Lan Fan suddenly standing beside Ling, where a second ago she hadn't existed.

He groans. "How many of you are there?"

"Just the three of us," Al says. "Mei wanted to come, but she was…held back."

There's an odd note to his voice. Ed cuts him a look but Al gives him the slightest shake of his head. They'll talk about it later then, in private.

"So, what?" Ed says, turning his attention back to Ling. "You're on vacation? Need a break from having your every wish fulfilled with a snap of your fingers?"

Ling barks out a laugh. "You're just as bratty as I remember," he says, his smile softening his words.

Well. Softening them a bit.

"Bratty?" Ed echoes, incredulous. "That's rich coming from—"

There's a snick as Lan Fan draws a blade, giving him a dangerous look. "You are speaking with His Imperial Majesty, not one of your foul soldier friends. Treat him with the respect he deserves or you will find yourself tongueless."

He levels Ling with a flat look. They’re back to this, are they? After everything they've been through? At least 'Young Lord' had been less of a mouthful.

Something shifts in Ling's expression, minute and nebulous, but there. The brilliance behind his happy-go-lucky mischief has dimmed a degree. He opens his mouth to say something, but the sound of a switch being flicked interrupts him, followed by the shuffling of feet and the creaking of a door. Ed's head rolls back in exasperation.

"What is all this commotion?" Pinako demands from the staircase landing. "It's the middle of the night!"

"Sorry, Granny," Al calls, wincing. Serves the bastard right. Ed hopes Pinako beats him red with her sandal.

"Alphonse?" she calls. Her footsteps smack down the stairs and then she's peering with tired eyes into the kitchen, her nightgown floating around her ankles. Her gaze lands on Al and she smiles. There goes Ed’s vengeance. "I thought you weren't coming in until the afternoon."

"I was going to sneak in and surprise you all in the morning," Al explains apologetically.

“Of course you were,” she says, walking up to him and patting his cheek. Ed rolls his eyes.

She peers past Al at Ling and Lan Fan. “Oh,” she says shrewishly. “It’s the insatiable one.”

Melancholy dilutes Ling’s smile. “I’m afraid Greed is no longer with us,” he says. “I’m just Ling again.”

“Oh, I’m aware. I was referring to your appetite.”

Ed snickers, and Al fails to choke down a laugh. Ling stares at her blank-faced for a moment. The he lets out a long, ringing peel of laughter. It throws Ed forcefully back into the past, to hotel rooms and alleyways, sauce-stained chopsticks and kicked-off shoes, their raucous laughter bouncing back at them off the walls. He thinks of their heads settled close together on a bed, staring at the ceiling and trading the most embarrassing secrets they had just to keep the laughter going. There was always good amongst the bad. However much the tragedies of his past hound him, he at least has that to cling to.

Pinako’s voice brings him back to himself. “Much as I’m glad to see you, Alphonse, and you, young emperor, and your lovely guard, it’s late. If the lot of you aren’t asleep in the next ten minutes, you’re spending the remainder of the night in the yard.”

“Yes, Granny,” they all say, cowed into childish unison. Pinako harrumphs.

“Ed,” she says, “give the emperor and his guard your room.”

“Eh?” He blinks at her, dumbfounded. “But it’s my room!”

“Not when there’s royalty in the house, it’s not,” she growls. “You’ll sleep on the couch.”

His hackles rise. “The couch!”

A hand claps him on the shoulder. He looks over, raging, to find Ling grinning down at him. The fact that Ed’s grown so much over the years and Ling still has height on him nearly makes him explode. “How hospitable of you,” Ling says, dark eyes gleaming.

Ed’s hands ball into fists at his sides.

Ling and Lan Fan walk off up the stairs. Ed nearly makes a snarky comment about them not knowing which room is his before he remembers that Greed had been here in the days leading up to the Promised Day, that he’d stood in Ed’s doorway and made crass, unhelpful comments while Ed read and ate and stared moodily out the window. His teeth click shut.

Pinako gives Ed and Al a warning look and then follows up the stairs. Al turns to him, his expression a vulnerable mix of happy and wary. “Are you alright?” he asks. “I didn’t mean to upset you with all this. It was meant to be a good surprise.”

Ed forces some of this tension to leave his body and gives him a weak but earnest smile. He reaches out and ruffles Al’s hair, a quiet thrill going through him at the fact he can do so again. “I know. I’m not upset, I’m just…not good with surprises.” In more ways than one. His brow furrows, and he rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Why did, uh…why did Ling come along?”

Al’s eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes, flustered. Ed catalogues it all with suspicion, the tension slowly creeping back into his body.

“He should really tell you himself,” Al says. His cheeks are a faint, blotchy pink.

Ed’s eyes narrow. Al’s being weird. This whole fucking night has been weird. “Alright,” he says slowly. “I’ll just have to squeeze it out of him in the morning, then.”

Al nods. After a moment, a soft smile sweeps over his face. “It’s really good to see you.”

Ed can’t help but smile back. “You too. I’m still not used to you not breathing down my neck every second of the day.”

Al rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. “You miss me.”

“I do,” Ed agrees. Al gives him a sappy look and wraps him up in a hug. The tell-tale smell of him floods Ed’s senses and washes away his aggravation and anxiety, leaving him boneless. Al’s been gone four months; Ed nearly forgot what it felt like to be well and truly home. He squeezes him in his arms.

A long moment later he pats Al on the back. “Get some sleep,” he says, pulling away.

Al nods and swipes his suitcase up off the floor. “You too,” he says, the wariness back in his expression, “you’ll need it.” Then he trudges up the staircase, leaving Ed to stand alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

+

He doesn’t go back to sleep that night. Instead, he pulls the throw off the couch and curls up on the windowsill in the living room that faces the sunrise. He presses his feet against the narrow strip of wall along the inside of the window like he did when he was a kid, one on top of the other, heel to toe, and stares out at the lightening sky, his mind wandering. He thinks of Winry living in Rush Valley; of Mustang and Hawkeye raising a family in Central City; of Al, Ling, Lan Fan, and Mei all existing together in Xing. He’d never go crying to anybody about it, but it’s strange to live the life he does. His formative years were spent constantly moving, talking, acting. At any given moment, five different people wanted something from him. Now, while his friends are starting families, travelling the world, inspiring historical change, he’s largely left alone, save for the odd job he’s asked to do around town sometimes, mostly out of pity. The whirlwind of sound and color that swept him along for so long has dissipated, and all that’s left now is silence. He yearned for this peace for so long, but five years later he’s still not sure if he likes it.

A rustle of fabric announces someone’s presence. A courtesy, Ed realizes, looking up from the window to find Ling standing beside him. He notices his sleep clothes first, taking in the blue silk shirt with its high collar and cloth fastenings running down the front and his matching pants. They give him the appearance of wearing formal wear even while sleeping. Then it’s his hair: he’s wearing it down for once. It falls over one shoulder and down his back in long, dark curtains. His bangs still stick out in jagged pieces though, incorrigible as the head they belong to.

“Thought you might still be up,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked. Then: “Take a walk with me.”

The thought of walking beside him, the vast quiet of the morning pushing in on them, makes Ed want to dart into the nearest room and lock the door. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay,” he manages. “Should we get Lan Fan?”

Ling shakes his head. “She’s staying behind for this. She’ll be watching, though, so don’t try anything _untoward_.”

A molten spark of irritation flickers at Ling’s joke, flashes of a forbidden memory flaring to life behind his eyes. He scowls and looks back out the window, banishing the glimpses of firelight and dark eyes back to the depths they belong to.

“Whatever,” he mutters. He unwinds his arms from around his shins and stands up, walking to the front door without so much as a glance Ling’s way. He pulls back the screen door in one long, terrible creak and slips outside.

The cool morning air douses some of the anxious fire within him. Early mornings remind him of childhood, of walking barefoot through dewy grass while the crickets’ nocturnal song began to wane. There was always a palpable feeling to the air back then, like there was potential energy gathered all around him, just waiting to be funneled into something. He feels it now too. With the dawn comes a new day’s worth of possibilities.

Ling’s footsteps sound behind him and then he’s beside him once more. Ed sneaks a glance at him out of the corner of his eye and finds an odd expression on his face. His usual indomitable confidence is gone, replaced with something painfully young, a faint, twitching uncertainty. He turns and catches Ed looking. He gives him a small, feeble smile. It makes Ed’s stomach flip.

Ed takes the first step forward, stuffing his balled fists into the pockets of his hoody, and Ling follows. They walk along the gravel road leading to town, their footsteps crunching loudly. The tall grasses on either side of them sway gently in the breeze. The quiet seems to grow taller around them until Ed snaps and asks, “Why’re you here, Ling?”

Ling blinks at him and then huffs out a laugh. “You always cut straight to the chase, don’t you?”

Ed gives him an impatient look.

“Right,” Ling says. “Well, there’s a bit of a situation in Xing currently, one that involves your brother. When he mentioned he was coming here to visit you, it felt like fate was extending me a hand. Lan Fan and I packed our bags and followed him onto the train.”

Ed’s brow furrows. He’s sure there was meant to be some sort of explanation in that. Possibly. “A situation?”

Ling’s head drops, just slightly. “Though I’ve torn down the old systems of power that pitted the clans against one another, some traditions refuse to die. See, the clans are all in uproar over the fact that I remain unmarried, despite the fact that they are now all equal in the eyes of the empire. They all want one of their children to be consort, to grasp that position of power for themselves.” He frowns. “Xing has never been so prosperous and peaceful at the same time, yet they still cling to the old ways of betrayal and destruction. They care little for their fellow clans – they’d throw each other to the wolves if it meant one could hold themselves higher than the other. I don’t know how we’ve lasted this long, tearing our own countrymen apart as we have.”

It’s strange to see him like this. Ling’s always cared greatly for his people, but seeing the mantle of emperor on his shoulders is something altogether different. He’s grown a great deal in the past five years – more pensive, more considerate.

“What does all this have to do with Al?” he asks. It’s a bit tactless to skim over Xing’s political turmoil when it’s clearly weighing on Ling, but no one’s ever called Ed tactful in his whole life.

“He and Mei have grown quite close over the years,” Ling responds. The corner of his mouth curves up. “I caught the two of them making out in the palace gardens the other night. I think Mei considered assassinating me for the interruption.”

Ed snorts. He can only imagine the shade of red Al must’ve turned.

“The issue is, with the amount of pressure the clans are putting on me, I can’t remain a devilishly handsome bachelor for much longer.”

“You mean, before someone _really_ considers assassinating you.”

Ling nods. “It’s not like there haven’t been attempts before, but with every single clan angry with me? Lan Fan and her family can only deflect so many blades at once. It won’t be long before one strikes true.”

“So you need to marry someone?” Ed prompts, still not quite following where Ling is going with all this.

Ling nods. “Though I wish us all to be united, I’m not under any delusions about the clanspeople: they’re power-hungry snakes, the lot of them. Shackling myself to one of them is just the same death sentence in a different form. The only one I can trust is—”

“Mei,” Ed realizes, the name leaving him in a rush. “You have to marry Mei.”

A deep sadness ebbs through him. He thinks of all the lovestruck letters Al has written him over the years, the ways he’s tried to surreptitiously work an unrelated tidbit about Mei into conversation. Aside from their shared crush on Winry when they were children, Al never really got to have any of the stupid, innocent flirtations every other kid did. A six-foot-tall metal body tended to get in the way of those types of things. Mei is his first real love, somebody who cared for him just the same when he was a walking suit of armor as she does now. That kind of love is rare in this world. Ed’s all too aware of that.

Ling continues: “She’s obligated by her devotion to her family to accept.”

After everything Al’s had taken away from him, Ling would take this from him too. Ling, who Al considers a friend. “You’re a heartless fucking bastard,” Ed spits.

Ling gives him a long, unreadable look. A ray of rising sunlight shines across half his face, burnishing his skin and bringing out the embers in the pitch of his eye. “There may be another option,” he says.

Ed cuts him a harsh glance. Ling meets his gaze and looks away, staring out at where the road runs into the purple silhouette of the mountains, the sun rising up between the peaks.

“Al tells me you and Winry aren’t together anymore,” he says.

Silence falls between them. A mix of emotions bubbles up in Ed’s chest.

“Winry?” he exclaims at last, dumbfounded. “You want to marry _Winry_?”

His mind reels. The two of them hardly know each other. Sure, Winry’s pretty, but he never got the vibe that Ling had any sort of interest in her. Winry definitely doesn’t have any interest in him, considering she’s happily making a life with Paninya now in Rush Valley.

Ling gives him a patient look. “No, Ed, I don’t.”

He wants to pull out his hair in frustration. “Well just— spit it out, then!”

Ling sighs, hanging his head. “You are the single most obtuse person I have ever met.”

He stops in his tracks and turns to face Ed, the breeze combing its fingers through his hair. Ed slows to a halt, anxiety buzzing in his chest, though he doesn’t know why.

“I don’t want to marry Mei. Your brother is a dear friend of mine, and Mei, though a terrible little brat, is my sister. Tradition might not look down upon such a marriage, but, frankly, I’d rather eat my own foot.”

Ed’s own huff of laughter catches him by surprise.

“Plus, it would undo all the work I’ve done these past five years to dismantle the clan hierarchy. Her family would reign supreme beneath mine. It makes much more sense to make an advantageous match outside of Xing. That way, no clan is elevated higher than another, and our country’s foreign relations are bettered in the process.” He gives Ed an awkward, pleading look. “Do you really not see where I’m going with this?”

“You want to marry someone here in Amestris?” he guesses. “Someone important?”

Ling gives him a slow, expectant nod. Ed stares back at him blankly. Ling sighs, mumbling to himself in Xingese that sounds awfully like a string of curses. Then he sinks to one knee, looking up at Ed with a mix of amusement and nerves on his face.

“Edward Elric, you miserable dunce, how would you like to be the emperor consort of Xing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ed’s super book-smart and clever but he’s also...a moron


	3. Chapter 3

He stares at Ling for a long time.

Ling’s face starts to morph into concern. “Ed?’

“What the hell are you playing at?” Ed hisses, his heart beating hard in his chest. Worse, he can feel a horrible, ruddy flush burning across his cheeks.

“I told you,” Ling says, his brows drawing together. “I need your help.”

“My _help_? Help is picking you up from the train station, or lending you a few hundred cens, not entering into a _marriage of convenience_ with you!”

“Look, I understand that this is a lot to ask—”

“Do you?” he questions, his eyes narrowing. “Because it seems more like this emperor stuff has gone to your head, and you think you can demand anything from anyone.”

“I’m not _demanding_ anything,” Ling says, starting to get cross. “I traversed the desert at the drop of a hat to come humiliate myself by _asking_ this of you.”

Ed huffs and turns away so he doesn’t do something stupid, like hit him.

“Do you really think I’ve fallen so low since we last saw each other? That I’ve grown into some corrupt, fat-cat bastard?” Ling asks. There’s a raw quality to his words that makes Ed uncomfortable, tender as a bruise.

“What do I know?” Ed says. “It’s not like you’ve made any sort of effort to talk to me in the last five years.”

Sharply, Ling says, “That’s a two-way street, Ed.”

“Oh?” He has to laugh. “And how does a common guy like me go about sending correspondence to an emperor?”

Ling drops his eyes, his mouth pressed into a tight line, his jaw taught with tension. Gotcha, Ed thinks, the victory more bitter than sweet.

“You’re free to say no,” Ling says at last. Serious and intent, he looks so unlike his usual grinning self in that moment that Ed is taken aback. “I won’t force you.”

Ed doesn’t know what to say to that. He kicks a rock with the toe of his boot, some indecipherable cloud of emotions building within him.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?” he says. “Either I say yes or I break my brother’s heart.” After every hellish misery he’s already wrought upon Alphonse, he doesn’t know if he could live with himself.

“It’s not an ultimatum,” Ling says. “I’m not going to marry Mei if you say no.”

Ed peers at him in confusion. “What’ll you do, then?”

Ling shrugs. “I’ve thwarted death before. I’ll manage.”

More like you’ll delay the inevitable as long as possible, Ed thinks, frowning. Ling had said it himself: it wouldn’t be long before one of his would-be assassinators succeeded, not when he had a whole country at his throat.

“I wouldn’t be here if there was anyone else,” Ling says with unsettling sincerity. “The marriage wouldn’t be forever, if that’s any consolation. Maybe five, seven years. After that I’ll have established enough rapport with the clans that I’ll be able to survive on my own.”

“And what happens after that?”

Ling shrugs blithely. “We part ways. Fake your death and ship you back to Amestris in a luxurious coffin.”

Ed raises his eyebrows in begrudging amusement.

“Or we just, you know. Annull the marriage,” Ling says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Can you even do that after half a decade?”

“Sure, if the marriage is never consummated,” Ling says, thoughtful and unbothered.

Ed flushes bright and scorching. “Right,” he mumbles, looking away.

Silence falls over them once more.

Ed rolls it all around in his mind. On the one hand, he’d still very much like to hit Ling for visiting him for the first time in all these years just to dump another terrible, life-altering decision in his lap. Either he marries Ling, enabling him to keep instilling change in the social order of Xing, possibly leading to unknown ripples across the world, and maybe Ed causes an international scandal when the ruse ends; or he leaves Ling to fend for himself, and within however many years he falls victim to blade, poison, or ‘accident,’ and Xing slides back into its old ways, leaving Ling with no legacy. All because he’s remained the same compassionate bastard he was as a teenager and won’t take the easy way out because it hurts his friends.

Ed sighs and hangs his head. The beginnings of a headache pulse behind his temples.

He steels himself. “Five years, not seven,” he says. It feels like jumping off a cliff.

Ling cocks his head at him in question.

“If we do this, I want your word: five years to the day, and then it’s done.”

A gleam flashes through Ling’s dark eyes. “Five years to the day,” he nods.

Ed lets out a long, deep breath. These are my last moments as a single man, he thinks. Shame he doesn’t feel any big, monumental epiphany towards it all. This chapter of his life is ending like a book kicked off the bed, his page lost in the accident of it. Whatever, he thinks. Adulthood sucks anyways.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

Ling grins at him, bright as the sun dawning behind him. “Welcome to the empire, Mr. Elric-Yao.”

Ed colors to his hairline.

+

By the time they sneak back into the house, the sun is fully risen and the living room smells of breakfast: maple, bacon, sausage, all run through with the thick, salty scent of eggs.

“Ah, wonderful,” Ling says, closing his eyes and taking an obnoxious whiff, a smile on his lips. “Dramatic confrontations always leave me famished.”

“Breathing leaves you famished,” Ed grouses.

“Right you are,” Ling says with a grin, and then he strides off into the kitchen. Ed bores a flat look into his back and follows.

Lan Fan is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping something fragrant from one of Granny’s teacups. Her eyes slide to Ling and the two share some sort of silent conversation made up of minute facial twitches and raising their eyebrows varying degrees. After a moment, she smiles into her cup. “Congratulations,” she says. Ed sneers at her.

Al, who’s been standing at the stove flipping things with a spatula, turns around. He hardly looks surprised to see them, which confirms Ed’s suspicion that he and Lan Fan had been watching them through the kitchen window. His gaze flits back and forth between them, equal parts curious and nervous.

“Did you have a nice walk?” he asks, forcibly casual.

Ed snorts.

“The best of my life,” Ling says. He’s back to his usual self, all shit-eating grins and sly looks.

“Oh?” Al says, a smile growing on his face.

“May I introduce my fiancée, a Mr. Edward Elric?” Ling sweeps an arm toward Ed in a comically extravagant flourish.

Ed gives him a hard look, though he figures it misses the mark due to the smile he’s fighting off. “Your _fake_ fiancé.”

“What is that bizarre saying you Amestrians have?” Ling says, face scrunched up in thought, tapping his chin with a forefinger. “’Six of one, half a dozen of the other?’”

Al laughs, and Ed’s smile wins out. He sinks into a chair beside Lan Fan, who nudges a steaming cup of tea at him. He looks at her in surprise, but she just stares back, cool and composed.

“Thanks,” he says softly. She says nothing, just slides her gaze away.

Ling’s chatter fills the kitchen as he relays details from their journey to Amestris and little anecdotes from years past, Lan Fan and Al joining in from time to time. Ed lets his thoughts drift, sinking into his chair with his teacup pleasantly warming his hands. He’s surprised by just how comfortable Al and Ling are with another, how close they’ve grown over the years. He smothers the jealousy that rises in him as best he can. Once upon a time, he thought that was his and Ling’s trajectory – that they would go their separate ways, stretch their friendship across thousands of miles, but grow all the closer for it. They’d share their lives through letters and telegrams, maybe reunite for a few precious weeks each year. Turns out that path wasn’t meant for him – it was meant for Al. He’s always hated that about life – how it exposes his naivety so coldly, how it plays him for a fool. He always has to be on his toes when he cares about someone – fate likes to take them away, one way or another.

Al puts a plate of eggs and breakfast meats in front of him, snapping him back to reality. Ed smiles up at him in thanks and digs in. Ling takes the free seat to his left and is halfway through his first serving before Al even sits down. Ling’s getting up to grab more when Pinako walks into the kitchen. Ed nearly chokes on his eggs. Oh God. He has to tell her. How the hell is he going to tell her?

The atmosphere at the table thins dangerously, everyone going tense and frozen, as if that’s going to do anything but make things worse. Pinako’s immediately suspicious, glancing around from face to face with narrow eyes.

“What’s happened?” she asks. Her gaze is like a floodlight, overturning all secrets. Ed narrowly resists squirming in his seat.

No one moves to say anything, remaining tense and tight-lipped in terrified solidarity. She drags her eyes around the table, looking for weaknesses. She lingers on Al and Ed knows it’s over. He kicks his brother in the shin and glares at him in warning as a last-ditch effort, but Al’s eyes flit back and forth between him and Pinako nervously, his face white.

“Alphonse?” she says. She would’ve made a great interrogator, the way her voice goes warm and gentle while somehow also teeming with threats of torture.

Al breaks, letting out a gasp like she’s literally waterboarded him. “Ling-and-Ed-are-engaged,” he says in a rush, squeezing his words into a single breath. He immediately flushes and gives Ed a kicked-puppy look. “Sorry.”

Ed just sighs and drops his head into his hand.

“Hm?” Pinako peers back and forth between Ed and Ling, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. “You and this one? I thought he dropped you like a hot potato.”

Ed pulls back his arm and lets his head thunk against the table. Maybe if he brains himself on the wood he can escape this.

Ling’s laugh comes out strained. He sounds nervous. “Hardly. Our love has been burning all this time, like candles signaling in the window across a vast distance.”

Pinako gives him a doubting look, her upper lip curled in the way it does when she’s in the presence of an idiot.

She turns to Ed. “Are you saving the world again?” she asks, no nonsense.

He shrugs, big and put-upon like the angsty teenager of old. She nods to herself. “Get yourself killed and I’ll curse your bones, you hear me?”

His eyes widen. He nods.

She turns to Ling, shaking a knobby finger at him. “That goes for you, too. If you make this old woman cross the desert just to pick up the broken pieces of her pseudo-grandson, no one will be able to save you, not even your superbly capable guard here. Understood?”

Ling, who accepted a homunculus into his body and wrestled it into half-tamed submission, visibly gulps. “Yes, Granny,” he says, stripped down to simple honesty. She narrows her eyes at him for a long moment before nodding to herself in satisfaction.

“Well, then,” she says, sitting down at the table and pouring herself a cup of tea, “I think fall is a lovely time for a wedding.”

+

Somehow they all survive breakfast. Ed’s heartrate even settles, or at least it starts to, and then Al stands up to collect everybody’s plates and Pinako says, “I imagine a royal wedding requires a great deal of preparation. When will you be going back to Xing?”

Ling opens his mouth to respond but Lan Fan cuts him a glance and answers instead. “As soon as possible,” she says. “This afternoon, ideally.”

“This afternoon?” Ed echoes, his brows drawing together. God, this is happening fast. He assumed they’d all stay here through the Promised Day anniversary, maybe get wildly drunk on the living room floor and commiserate a bit. Their guests have only been here maybe six hours, and they want to be on their way out of town before the day’s end. He feels like a tornado’s come in, swept him up, and dropped him on his head.

Ling gives him an apologetic look. “It can wait,” he assures him. “We can leave in a few days’ time.”

Ed gets the sense in that moment that Ling understands – that he knows Ed is broken in ways time can’t heal, and that he’s been looking forward to having friends around on the anniversary this year to dull the ache.

“We really can’t,” Lan Fan says, frowning. “The longer you’re away from the palace, the more time there is for someone to realize you aren’t actually sick in bed and stage a coup.”

Ling gives her the first hard look Ed’s ever seen him direct at her. He says something to her in Xingese and she leans towards him, her body tense, and whispers something furiously back at him. Ed sneaks a glance at Al, who’s nearly fluent in Xingese, and sees his wide eyes volleying back and forth between them, his jaw clenched tightly. His fingers are digging into his thighs underneath the table. Curious.

The exchange ends with Ling crossing his arms over his chest and staring off at nothing with a dark glaze over his eyes, his lips pressed into a hard line. Lan Fan turns back to the rest of them, looking ruffled. “We’re sorry to drag you into this at such a sensitive time,” she says to Ed. Her eyes, mercury bright as always, are earnest. She has a hard job, constantly looking out for Ling. Ed knows she’s not a cold-hearted bastard – she just has priorities. “But the whole point of all this is securing His Imperial Majesty’s rule. It’ll all be meaningless if we step off the train in Xing a few days from now and some usurper has us all shot.”

The table falls silent.

Ling’s expression ripples angrily. “Lan Fan—”

“She’s right,” Ed says. Everyone turns to look at him. His shoulders hunch defensively at the attention. “It’s stupid for us to stay here.”

Al’s face pinches in concern. “Ed—”

“It’s fine,” he says, giving Al a small smile in reassurance. “Honestly. This is more important.”

Al doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go. “Alright.”

Ed turns his attention to Lan Fan. “When’s the next train?”

“Noon,” she says. “It’s a six-hour journey to Xing from Central, and another two hours to the palace by car, which means we’ll have the benefit of sneaking in under the cover of night.”

“You guys really had this all planned out, huh?” Ed says, impressed in a nauseous sort of way. Ling gives him a tense look, but he has no idea what it means.

It seems nobody has anything to say after that; the table grows quiet again. Ed pushes back his chair and stands up. “I guess I better go pack,” he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs.

Al hurries to stand as well. “I’ll help you,” he says. Ed nearly tells him to stay put – that he wants to be alone – but the idea of sitting in a room by himself deciding which of his possessions matter enough to be taken on a five-year journey is suddenly intolerable. He nods. They leave Ling and Lan Fan at the table with Pinako and silently ascend the stairs.

+

“You don’t have to do this,” Al tells him. He’s sitting on Ed’s bed folding clothes for him while Ed tries to decide what books and random objects he’ll need to take with him.

“I know,” he replies, distractedly, weighing the merits of a volume on archaic Amestrian alchemy practices versus an astrology journal that theorizes celestial alignments that are alchemically resonant. He’s read the first one already, but—

“Brother.” The tone of Al’s voice catches Ed’s attention. He turns to look at him and finds him with Ed’s old red coat folded in his lap, idly rubbing the material between his fingers. “You’ve spent your whole life making sacrifices. You don’t need to give yourself away, too. Especially not for me.”

Ed shrugs. “It’s not much of a sacrifice. You have someone you want to spend your life with. I don’t.” He puts down the book about archaic alchemy and slips the astrology journal into his satchel. Memories bubble up of he and Winry, the good and the bad. He ignores them. “Besides, it’s only temporary.”

Al grows quiet. It puts a pang in Ed’s chest. They both hold onto so much from the past – guilt, regret, grief. Ed knows Al feels guilty about Ed losing his alchemy so he could have his body back, just as Al knows Ed will never forgive himself for separating him from his body in the first place. He hates thinking that they might drag these burdens around forever, but he can’t see anyway to relieve them.

He walks over to Al and lays a hand on his shoulder. Al looks up at him with his big hazel eyes, the familiar divot that means he’s thinking too much in place between his brows. “It’ll be fine,” Ed says, offering up a soft smile. Al smiles tentatively back. “I’m doing this more for Ling, anyways. Idiot’ll get himself killed otherwise.”

Al looks away and nods. “Are you…” he starts, looking like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Are you really okay with this marriage stuff? …After what happened in Kanama?”

Ed’s blood fizzles white-hot. The memory, boarded-up and locked away, tries to surface again: a dark forest, crickets thrumming in the shadows, firelight dancing across pale skin, a face too close to his own, fingers brushing his hair behind his ear. He digs his nails hard into his palms, the pain drowning out the flashes.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to tell Al about that in the first place. He thought they'd had a tacit agreement to never speak of it.

He forces himself to calm, draping nonchalance over himself like a cloak. He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be? That was years ago. We were kids.”

Al gives him a long look. “Right,” he says eventually. “Well, if you’re ever not okay with it, you can talk to me. I hope you know that.”

The fire in Ed blows out. Al’s caring heart still manages to sweep his feet out from under him sometimes, twenty-odd years later. “I know,” he nods. “Thanks.”

Al just nods back in reply. They go back to packing, Ed asking Al a bunch of questions about Xingese weather and customs to clear the air. The tension dissipates, shifting into laughter and throwing things at each other’s heads. They spend most of the morning like that, rifling through Ed’s things and reminiscing.

Eventually Lan Fan knocks on the open door. “We’ll need to leave soon,” she informs them. She’s dressed in Amestrian civilian clothes: a dark jacket over a gray t-shirt and dark pants. It’s a bit surreal to see her like this. It hammers in how everything in Ed’s life is suddenly changing.

He nods. “Alright. Thanks.”

She nods in return and disappears back into the hall.

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “This is fucking crazy.”

“A bit,” Al concedes. “But, hey. I’ll be right by your side.”

Ed raises his head and smiles at him. “That’s the sappiest shit you’ve ever said.

Al whips a pair of pants at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the Xing Express! *clown honking*


	4. Chapter 4

Pinako surprises him with a hug as they’re leaving for the train station.

“Be good to yourself,” she says.

Baffled, Ed can do little but nod. She pushes him out the door with a forceful pat on the back, sending him stumbling over the threshold. Five years, he thinks. He probably won’t be back here again for five years. He turns around, seized by sentimental melancholy. “Granny,” he says.

She peers at him from behind her spectacles.

“Thank you. For everything.”

She blinks at him, her mouth parting in surprise. She recovers soon enough, though, waving him off dismissively. “Save your tears for the wedding,” she says.

Ed huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He turns back around and walks to the cab idling outside, stuffing his bags in the trunk. He looks back at the house, waiting on the others, and sees Pinako gripping Al’s arm, pulling him down close to her and murmuring in his ear. Al’s usually expressive face is suspiciously blank. After a moment Pinako releases him, settling back on her heels. Al nods at her and she pats him lightly on the arm. He walks over to the car while Ling thanks Pinako for her hospitality.

“What was that about?” Ed asks.

Al busies himself with shoving his luggage in next to Ed’s. “Nothing,” he says. Ed eyes him suspiciously, but Al keeps his head buried in the trunk. Ed lets it go.

Pinako’s front door closes with a click and Ling and Lan Fan approach them.

“I have to sit with His Imperial Majesty,” Lan Fan says.

“That’s okay! I’ll sit up front,” Al says too eagerly. He practically dives into the passenger’s seat. Ed notes the strange behavior, filing it away for later.

He turns to Ling, opening his mouth to say something, and finds Ling already grinning at him. “Guess you’re with me, hubby,” he says.

“Nuh uh. No pet names,” Ed says, gesturing emphatically with his forefinger.

Ling pouts. “But Sunshine, Eddie Bear, Angel Pie, how are the people supposed to know we’re in love?”

“Not my problem,” Ed says through gritted teeth, and yanks open the car door. Al laughs openly from the front seat, the bastard.

“After you, _Your Imperial Majesty_ ,” Ed sneers.

Ling steps close to him, sending Ed’s senses into high alert, and pinches his cheek. “Such a polite young man, my fiancé.”

Rage floods through him, burning him from tip to toe. “ _Don’t you fucking dare_ —”

Lan Fan darts through the open door and pulls Ling in after her, yanking a reedy sound of surprise out of him. Ed stands there and seethes for a moment, shaking with it.

“Brother, we need to get going,” Al says, ever the diplomat.

Ed breathes out, long and slow, pushing out as much of the venom as he can. When he gets his trembling under control, he climbs into the car and slams the door shut.

“Not into PDA, huh?” Ling says from beside him. They’re pressed together hip to knee in the cramped space of the cab, the bones of their ankles knocking against one another as the car rattles forward.

“Lan Fan,” Ed growls, “if he keeps this up, _I’m_ going to assassinate him.”

“While I sympathize,” she replies, a rogue smile fighting free at the corner of her mouth, “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

Ling leans into him, resting his chin on Ed’s shoulder. “Hear that, Ed? I have royal impunity.”

The heat of Ling’s throat presses against his shoulder. He can feel it through the fabric of his thermal. There’s also the digging in of his chin to contend with, the way it sits in the dip of his shoulder joint. It’s been a while since he had someone in his personal space like this. A long, long while.

“I’ll risk the execution,” he says, pressing his hand into Ling’s face and pushing him off. Ling squawks indignantly, but Ed remains unharmed. He casts a questioning glance at Lan Fan and finds her looking pointedly out the window. He smirks to himself.

Ling starts bemoaning the cruelty of his companions. Ed tunes him out. He takes a page from Lan Fan’s book and stares out the window, taking in the fields of overgrown grass and wildflowers. These are the last glimpses of home he might have for half a decade. Best to get a good look.

+

The train station is bustling at this time of day. Lan Fan is on edge, though none of the strangers around them would know it by looking at her. It’s a certain hardness to her mouth, an elasticity to her fingers like she’s ready at any moment to sling a blade into her palm. They make it to their train without incident and Lan Fan closes the compartment door with a definitive snick. She doesn’t settle until she’s checked the window, the seats, and the underside of the tea table. Only then does she slump down in one of the window seats with a small sigh, tugging down the window shade as she goes.

“Killjoy,” Ling says, dropping down next to her. “I almost feel bad for my would-be assassins – they can’t even get a cheap shot at me through the window.”

Lan Fan spares him a cool, blank look before settling a bit in her seat and closing her eyes. Ling sighs.

“You can’t be bored already,” Ed says, his eyebrow raised. Al sits down opposite Lan Fan, leaving Ed to sit opposite Ling.

Ling smiles at him with the lazy deviousness of a cat and kicks his feet up into Ed’s lap. “I’m the emperor of Xing. I can be anything.”

Ed scoffs at him and reflexively moves to push him off. His fingers curl around Ling’s ankle, thumb slotting over the inner bone. The skin here is surprisingly soft, and he narrowly resists stroking it. He wakes up to his behavior and hurries to toss Ling’s feet off him.

“Sorry. Forgot about the PDA thing,” Ling says. When Ed dares a glance at him, he finds him smirking.

“Fuck off,” Ed mutters, scowling. “Entertain yourself – leave me out of it.”

Ling’s expression collapses into a pout. “You’re no fun.”

Ed smiles at him thinly. “Get used to it. I’m gonna suck the joy out of your life every day for the next five years.”

Ling rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

Ed laughs. “ _I’m_ dramatic?”

Al stands up suddenly, looking weary. At Ed’s questioning expression, he says, “I need some air.”

“We only sat down five minutes ago,” Ed says.

“And what a harrowing five minutes it’s been,” Al replies.

Lan Fan snorts, apparently not sleeping. Al stretches his gangly limbs over Ed to reach the compartment door and winds up crushing Ed’s toes beneath the heel of his boot, making him yelp.

“Sorry!” Al squeaks, and then he rushes out into the hall before Ed can grab the back of his shirt and wrestle him into atonement. Ed huffs and crosses his arms, turning his glare out the window. His expression smooths out quickly, though, as he watches the green hills of Resembool roll by.

“Are you going to miss it?” Ling asks, breaking him out of his reverie. There’s an unusual lack of irony about him, his dark eyes earnest and searching.

Ed relaxes, releasing some of the tension that’s been building in him since the car ride to the station. He nods. “It’s a long time to be away from home. I’m happy to be with Al again, though.” And you, he thinks, though five years of radio silence have zapped him of the confidence required to say that out loud.

Ling smiles. “Still? Even with the broken toes?”

Ed huffs. “’Least he’s not metal anymore. It’d be pretty hard to sneak into a palace with a shattered foot.”

Ling hums in response.

“What’s it going to be like?” Ed asks. “Being consort to the emperor, I mean.”

Ling turns thoughtful. “Different. You’ll have to wear formal robes outside of your room, and act the part of a diplomat. No settling things with fists and swords. That’s the worst part of it,” he says conspiratorially, his eyes gleaming. “You can’t imagine how much I miss just pulling out my blade when someone says something stupid.”

Ed’s lips pull up at the corners. Ling smiles back before a thought seems to wash it away. “There’s less freedom in general. You won’t be able to go anywhere without a guard, especially in this tenuous period before the wedding. You’ll have all the power you could ever wish for, but you’ll be able to do little you actually want with it. And people will be stiff as corpses around you. They’ll hardly ever tell you what they mean. It’s…aggravating.”

“I’ll just have to be doubly honest with you, then,” Ed says, half-joking. “And you with me.”

Ling’s answering smile has a tenderness to it that prods at Ed’s chest. “We’ll eviscerate each other, surely.”

“Maybe,” Ed shrugs.

For a moment they just look at each other. Ling’s wearing a red Amestrian button-down, the first button undone. The delicate, almond-colored skin of his throat flutters behind the open collar.

The compartment door slides open suddenly and Al steps inside, four steaming glass mugs hugged precariously to his chest. Ed shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his skin too hot.

“Truce?” Al says, extending a mug to him. Ed takes it, the familiar smell of hot cocoa wafting up at him. He smiles.

“Alright,” he says.

Al passes the rest of the mugs out and settles back into his seat. Ed sips his drink and sinks into silence.

+

He falls asleep at some point, his restlessness from the night before hitting him with a vengeance. His dreams are a senseless riot of images: a metal torso, the breast plate removed to reveal a small ocean of soil inside. A tiny green sprout sticks out from the loam, its long, thin roots spreading down deep. Then there’s their childhood home, the support beams blistering and cracking from the inferno blazing through it. The flames swirl into a small campfire, trees drenched in nighttime appearing all around it. Though the fire is small, it still crackles and snaps with the earth-shattering loudness of the blaze it was born from. The brightness illuminates a void silhouette beside it, the figure’s features mysteriously obscured. Whoever or whatever they are, they reach out a hand. The desire to lean forward into their touch rings through Ed, but he hesitates. He loses his chance; the silhouette turns to wisps of shadow and dissipates into thin air.

A horn blares and wakes him. Disoriented by the dream, he wakes up having no idea where he is.

“We’re here,” Ling says across from him.

Ed blinks at him, his mind jostled through time. For a moment, he’s sixteen again, camping out in the woods with a monster boy he sometimes calls a friend. That word holds more weight that it should.

“Ling?” His brows cinch, a mess of feelings unspooling in his chest. When was the last time Ling fought to the surface? How long has it been since they’ve spoken?

Dim light spills into the space. Squinting, Ed sees that Lan Fan has pushed the window shade up. The remaining blue-gray light in the sky filters in, illuminating the train compartment and its passengers, four empty mugs sitting on the tea table casting long shadows. The train’s stopped moving, the floor no longer thrumming beneath his feet, a foreign mountain range standing still outside the window.

Right. The train.

Ed sighs and stands up. His joints crack as he stretches. “Are we—”

“We’re in Xing,” Ling confirms. “The outer limits.”

Ed nods.

“The car is parked just outside the station,” Lan Fan says. She tosses something at Ed that he barely manages to catch, his limbs still rigid with sleep. Turning it over, he sees it’s a linen cap. “Put that on,” she tells him.

Beside him, Al is already situating a similar hat over his head, tucking the stray pieces of hair at his hairline beneath the band.

“Your hair is too eye-catching here,” Lan Fan explains. “You need to tuck your braid away.”

Ed does at he’s told, though he has a feeling he looks ridiculous. His suspicions are confirmed when Ling’s gaze catches on the hat and remains there. “As your future husband, I beg of you: never shave your head,” he says.

Ed narrowly resists thumping him hard in the shoulder, too aware of the vast quantity of knives Lan Fan has tucked beneath her unassuming clothing. He contents himself with ignoring Ling entirely, busying himself with pulling his bags down off the luggage rack instead.

They walk off the train as inconspicuously as they can. Ling’s got his bangs pinned back, his hair braided in a long rope that swings between his shoulders. It’s strange how something so minimal can make him look completely different.

The four of them walk casually to the parking lot, where Lan Fan somehow singles out one black car in a crowd of them. She approaches the trunk and draws a key out of her pants pocket, unlocking it. “Put your bags here,” she tells them. “I’m driving. His Imperial Highness sits behind me.”

She unlocks the doors and they step in, Ed in the back with Ling and Al upfront with Lan Fan. They leave the station behind with no fanfare, passing no one on the way out. In minutes they’re travelling down a long packed-dirt road approaching the mountains. The engine sounds of the car are loud, but even louder is a strange screeching hum coming from outside.

“What is that?” Ed asks.

“Cicadas,” Ling answers. “They’re insects that come out every summer and disappear when it gets cold. They sing like this every night.”

Ed hums in response. He’s pretty sure it gets lost in the noise.

+

Two hours later they pull all the way through the pass in the mountains and wind up travelling through a tunnel of trees, the branches grasping each other above them. White flowers overshadow the green leaves, covering them like a blanket of snow. Their fallen petals litter the car path. They get kicked up by the tires and drift through the air, illuminated in the rich dark settling in outside by the vibrant cut of the headlights. Once they reach the end of the tunnel, Lan Fan pulls off onto a patch of grass. She turns in her seat to face Ed and Al. “You’ll need to change into less conspicuous clothes. There’s some folded robes tucked under your seats, along with some slippers.”

Ed rifles around under his seat. His fingers glide across smooth fabric before running into something clunky. He pulls everything out and into his lap. The slippers are plain and black, which he appreciates. The robes are…less plain. A lavish red with shimmery gold embroidery in the shapes of suns and falling stars. There’s a black sash folded around it hemmed in silver thread. “These are _less_ conspicuous?”

Al snorts from the front seat.

“This is how people dress in the palace. If someone saw you walking around in your Amestrian clothes, they’d raise the alarm,” Ling says.

Ed grumbles and makes to grab the door handle.

“What are you doing?” Lan Fan hisses.

Ed gives her a crazed look. “I’m going outside. To change.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “There are spies everywhere this near the palace. You cannot be seen.”

“So…what, then?”

“We change here, in the car.”

Ed blanches. “What? No, that— that’s ridiculous.”

Ling props his elbow up on his knee and drops his chin into his hand, grinning up at him. “Shy?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. Ed glares back at him. If he could ever start fires with his mind, now would be the time. Ling raises his head and lounges back against the seat. “You shouldn’t be. We traveled together on the road for months – there’s little you could show me that I haven’t already seen.”

Ed flushes red as the robe in his sweaty hands. “Not everything’s about you,” he says disagreeably.

Ling raises his eyebrows. “Who else are you worried about? Lan Fan? She thinks you’re hideous. Repugnant, even. ‘Goblin-like,’ I believe she’s called you.”

Ed sputters. Al, predictably, loses himself to a fit of snickering. Ed catches Lan Fan’s dark gaze in the rearview mirror and immediately looks away, scowling.

“He’s joking,” she says. “I have no reason to speak of such things.”

Right, Ed thinks, his flush darkening. That…makes sense. God, it’s so easy for Ling to wind him up, even all these years later.

“Now hurry up and get dressed,” Lan Fan says. “We shouldn’t remain out here in clear view longer than we have to.”

He grumbles but acquiesces, yanking off his thermal. The sounds of shuffling tell him the others are doing the same; he keeps his eyes firmly to himself, so sound is the only indicator. Well, that and what he can’t avoid in his periphery, which is Ling undoing his own shirt button by button and shrugging out of it, his bare shoulder catching the moonlight that shines in through the window. Burning, Ed pulls the robe around himself before wiggling out of his pants, drawing them off around his ankles. It turns out the robe is actually two robes: one he wraps around his torso and ties in place with the sash and another he hangs and open from his shoulders. The silk against his bare skin gives him goosebumps. He slips his feet into the slippers.

Somehow they all manage to change in their cramped quarters. Lan Fan does it the most impressively, considering the stealth armor she wears in her position as royal guard, all bulky shoulder pads and tight fabric. Satisfied that they’re all clothed, Ed watches as she ties her mask over her face and then wordlessly puts the car back in gear.

It only takes a few minutes for the palace to appear. They turn the corner and suddenly there it is: a gigantic terraced tower, red as poppies, with sloping, gold-tiled roofs, positioned halfway up a rocky hill. Other buildings surround it, each the same red and gold in design. At the base of the hill sit two jade-green pillars, taller than the four of them stacked on top of one another. A gilded dragon climbs up one with sharp claws, while a phoenix swirls around the other. It reminds Ed of the designs on Ling’s old shirt: flames and wings and bird heads. He turns to Ling to tell him so and finds him dressed in bright gold robes, his hands tying back his hair with an elaborate band-and-hairpin contraption. His robes cast shimmery gold reflections onto his face. He looks so much like an emperor in that moment it displaces something in Ed. It’s as if he doesn’t know him at all. Then Ling meets his eyes and smiles that mischievous grin of his and the feeling passes.

“This is it,” Ling says. “The beginning. Are you ready?”

No, he thinks. How could anyone be ready for this? He looks up at the palace looming above him, the hollow archways cut from the stone all lit with candles. For five years, he’s going to pretend to be a part of this place – to share in its ownership, its customs, its people. How strange to think that twenty-four hours ago he was settling into a bad dream. Now…well, he supposes he doesn’t know what kind of dream this is, only that it’s too unbelievable to be real.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, and then the four of them sneak off into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally....we're in xing


	5. Chapter 5

They climb swiftly up the hill, passing through the green pillared gate and winding upwards through copses of trees and shadowed pathways. The light surrounding them gradually increases, lantern by lantern, until soon they meet the first of the palace’s outer buildings and are drenched in a golden glow. They stick to the narrow strips of shadow left on the sidelines, carefully maneuvering from building to interconnected building until they reach the innermost section.

Ling and Lan Fan lead them on a tight walk along the side of a building situated on a steep rock face. They grip the exterior of the building for balance as they carefully tread across a strip of ground barely wide enough to support a foothold. Ed, making up the rear, makes it to the other side and exhales the breath he’d been holding in a big, trembly rush. When the adrenaline high fades enough to focus again, he finds himself on the bank of a beautiful pond. The water is a deep emerald in the dark, and green and yellow lily pads run through it in an orderly swath. It’s almost like a pathway, like Ed could walk across it into whatever hidden realm lies at its end. Unusual trees line the pond banks, with flexible branches like whips that grow in long curtains towards the ground. The tips of them touch the surface of the water, sending out gentle ripples. Most captivating, though, is the strong floral smell that pervades the area. It fills his head up like smoke, heavy and swirling.

“What is that?” he asks.

Ling smiles. “Night flowers. They bloom with every moon rise.”

They stand there and admire the scenery for a quiet moment. Then Ling grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him along. “This way,” he says, tossing a mischievous look over his shoulder. Ed casts a glance around and sees Al and Lan Fan following behind them, walking assuredly like they know where they’re going.

Ling leads them to a small bridge that spans the width of the pond. Intricately carved railings border either side, painted bright red, and a tiled roof shadows the stone walkway. Ling tugs him across it, the others following. Ed tries to quiet his footsteps to match Ling’s, but Ling’s long-legged stride has him hurtling along behind him on clumsy feet. Al only manages slightly better, his slippers still softly pattering against the stone. Lan Fan is silent as a ghost.

They step out onto the other side and Ed finds himself staring at the backs of two buildings, a circular stone well situated behind them. There’s a wooden cover placed over it that’s painted with large red characters, suggesting it’s out of commission, and for possibly dangerous reasons. Ling walks over to the well, Lan Fan following close at his heels, and pulls the cover back. He reaches in, his back curving over the stone lip. There’s a confusing thud sound, like the well is dry and only one foot deep, and Ling’s banged against the bottom. To add to the confusion, Ling draws out a candle and a box of matches from within.

“Some of the old emperors indulged in some…interesting activities,” he says, his eyes cutting to Ed wryly. He slips a match free of the box and strikes it, flame flaring into life. “They required discreet ways of getting in and out of the palace.” He lights the candle and shakes out the match. Then he swings a leg over the lip of the well, his foot connecting with something solid. Baffled, Ed approaches the well and looks inside. Ling’s candlelight illuminates a makeshift spiral staircase jutting out of the inner walls, rough-hewn stones with nauseating gaps between them.

“This is how you snuck out?” he asks.

Ling nods. He points at the buildings in front of them. “The staircase opens up into a tunnel that goes beneath these two libraries. There’s a hidden passageway at the other end that leads directly to the royal baths in the central tower. My personal rooms are just down the hall.”

“Can we all make it from the baths to your rooms unseen?”

Ling shrugs, a smile twitching at his lips. “With the proper diversions.”

Ed narrows his eyes, not liking the sound of that. Before he can voice anything, though, Ling lifts his other leg into the well and begins descending the staircase, taking the candlelight with him. Ed curses and hops in after him.

The change from solid ground to step-suspended-God-knows-how-high-in-the-air is disorienting, as is the cool, insular darkness of the well. He puts a hand on one of the rough walls to balance himself, shutting his eyes against the terrible flipping sensation in his stomach. He forces it to pass, grounding himself with the hand on the wall as he steps forward, following Ling down. There’s a sound above him like someone else stepping into the well, and then another. A dragging sound announces the wooden cover being pulled back over the well, the moonlight disappearing. There’s a fizzling sound, and then more light shines out from behind him. He chances a glance behind him and finds Al slowly descending the steps with Lan Fan making up the rear, a candle in her hand. He swallows down the knot of fear quivering in his throat and presses onwards.

He loses track of time in the darkness. All his attention goes to putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually one of his feet hits solid ground, though, and he takes a couple careful steps forward to be sure he isn’t mistaken. He looks up and sees Ling waiting a few feet into the tunnel. Ed joins him, and they wait for the others before setting off down the tunnel.

The candlelight reflects better here, and a warm yellow glow fills their little bubble of space. The tunnel is surprising: rather than packed dirt, the walls and floor are all laid in terracotta brick. There are alcoves every ten feet or so. Most are strangely empty, though every now and then one will have a torch sconce sticking out of it. Towards the end there’s a chest.

“For out-of-palace necessities,” Ling explains. “Money, clothes. I found an astonishingly ugly mask in there the first time I rifled through it. Guess someone took disguising themselves very seriously.”

At the end of the tunnel, there’s another set of stairs. This is a real staircase, though, not a bunch of bricks jutting out of a wall. It leads straight up, thankfully, rather than twisting about like the other one. Ling starts ascending the steps and the rest of them follow.

The bricks shift from terracotta to dark stone, and the ceiling takes on a subtle arch. Moss is growing in the cracks between stones. They walk for a few minutes before Ed can see the light ahead of them, just a thin rectangular outline. When they approach it, Ed sees that it’s a door with a strange mechanism installed on the back of it: a series of interlocking gears and rods. Ling places his hand on the attached lever.

“Wait!” Ed hisses, his hand jutting out to grab Ling’s wrist. “What if there’s people in there?”

Ling gives him an amused grin. “These are the royal baths – no one’s allowed in here but me. Well, and now you.”

Ed fights hard not to fluster at that.

“Besides,” Ling continues, “Lan Fan and I would sense if anyone was on the other side, remember?”

Ed blinks at him. Right. He hastily yanks his hand back. Ling huffs out a laugh and pulls the lever. The door opens with impossible softness, the clicking and whirring of the gears quiet as a whisper, the door falling open with a sigh. Ling pushes it back and steps through, revealing a room with warm wooden floors and a wall completely made of windows. Moonlight pours through, illuminating a large rectangular bath in the middle of the floor, the walls of it made of dark stone. The water inside steams, turning the air thick with cloying humidity.

Al and Lan Fan emerge, and the latter closes the door behind her. It seems to disappear into the wall, covered as it is in matching planks of wood. The seams align perfectly.

“What do we do now?” Al asks.

“Lan Fan will get rid of the guards outside my rooms. Al, you can return to your own room. Ed, you’ll have to sleep in my quarters for the night. You’ll get your own in the morning after I announce our engagement to the court.”

Ed’s thoughts evaporate, his pulse stumbling over itself. After an awkwardly long moment, he says, “I’m not staying with Al?”

Ling looks at him like he’s stupid. Given the current state of his brain, Ed can’t blame him. “You can’t be seen, Ed. They’ll think you’re an intruder. Al has already established free diplomatic reign of the palace – no one will bat an eye at him. You, on the other hand, would be thrown in a cell and ever so gently tortured.”

Ed processes that for a moment. “Right. Okay. Right.” Everything about this night feels hazy and dreamlike. This might as well happen.

“Lan Fan,” Ling says. She nods at him and slips out the exit.

Al lays a hand on Ed’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright?”

Ed doubts it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He forces a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Al gives him a long look and then lets his hand drop. He gives him a nod and then slips out the door into the dim light of the hallway, leaving Ed alone with Ling.

Ed turns and finds Ling’s black eyes fixed on him.

“What’s wrong?” Ling asks. A wicked smile curls lazily at the corner of his mouth. “Scared of your own marriage bed?”

Ed flushes hotly, equal parts embarrassment and agitation. He sneers at him. “No, asshole. I’m afraid being stuck in a room with you for eight hours will drive me to jumping out the window.”

“Pretty sure I read somewhere that defenestrating one’s self is a bad omen for a wedding.”

Ed rolls his eyes, his soft laugh betraying him.

All of a sudden Ling perks up like a hound hearing something in the distance. “Lan Fan’s gotten rid of the guards,” he says. He steps between Ed and the door and grabs a fistful of his sleeve again, pulling him out into the hall without another word.

Sconces burn on the walls, chasing away the shadows with flickering candlelight. They illuminate patterned wallpaper with unfamiliar creatures twisting across it and wood floors of a deep mahogany color. Ling pulls him sharply around a corner. The candles reveal Lan Fan standing, unmasked, outside of a set of huge wooden doors carved in an intricate relief, the individual shapes hard to pick apart in the dim light. There’s a man standing at attention beside her in a uniform similar to her own. His hair is unusually short for a man from Xing, cropped close to his skull. His face is soft and lineless, but there’s something about his eyes that suggests he’d older than he looks, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. As Ling and Ed approach, his dark eyes do not waver from their fixed point on the opposite wall.

“This is Feng,” Ling tells him. “He’ll be your personal bodyguard.”

At the introduction, Feng pivots on his heels to face them and drops his head in a sharp bow. Ed stares at him, unsure what he’s meant to do. Feng pulls himself upright again before he can panic about it too much.

“It is an honor,” Feng says, his voice raspy in a quiet sort of way.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Ling snorts beside him. “What a wonderful emperor you’ll be.”

Ed gives him a flat, irritated look. “Emperor _consort_.”

“Ah, so you’ve warmed up to your position, have you?” Ling grins, bright and nauseating. Ed just scoffs and yanks his sleeve free from his grip, turning his gaze anywhere else.

“Feng, you and Lan Fan are on guard duty tonight,” Ling says. He gives Ed whiplash, the way he’s able to switch between useless slug and leader of a whole empire in the blink of an eye.

Feng nods his head sharply in understanding. Lan Fan pulls open one of the giant wooden doors, the carvings flashing with dramatic contrast in the light. Ed is stuck there for a moment, staring at the blue moonlight splashed in a window-shaped square across the dark floor beyond the door frame. Someone nudges him gently in the ribs and he whips his head to the side, startled, to find Ling giving him one of his rare earnest looks. For a split second Ed feels like a little kid again, like he wants to dig his heels in and sprint off down the corridor into the shadows. He pushes it down hard and strides with forced confidence through the doorway.

Ling follows close behind him, murmuring something to Lan Fan before he does. She closes the door behind him and it slides home with a heavy whoosh. The candle Ling’s carrying is the only source of light in the room aside from the window; the glow illuminates his chest, face, and hands, reflecting richly off the shimmery gold fabric of his robes, the angles of him rich with shadows. Ed stays still and watches him walk around the corners of the room, touching the wick to other candles and lighting them one by one. Soon Ed can see the gist of the space: a modestly sized room with immodest decor. There’s a polished credenza pushed up against one wall, a series of interconnected golden statues spread out on top of it. A huge phonograph in the shape of a blooming flower sits in a corner. The middle of the room is mostly empty save for an ornate satin chase with a stack of books piled high beside it.

Ling makes his way around the room. When he reaches the far wall, there’s a clicking sound and more blue moonlight fills the room as a door drifts open. Ed follows him into the next room.

The left wall is made completely of windows, which Ed is baffled by, considering how paranoid Lan Fan had been about the tiny window on the train earlier. Another wall is taken up by a sprawling desk. The bed is built like a stage into the neighboring wall, with a massive wooden front that stretches up to the ceiling, the mattress tucked away within an archway carved from it, curtains pulled back on either side. The room is daunting, to say the least. He can’t imagine ever relaxing in here when it seems designed to remind its inhabitant of the empire on their shoulders.

Ling sticks his candle in a little holder on his desk. He turns around and flashes Ed a smile, though it lacks its usual gleam of carelessness. “Home sweet home,” he says. He pulls on the sash tied around his waist and his robe opens, revealing a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of those loose pants he always wore when they were teenagers. Ed nearly chokes in surprise. His bags slip from his twitching fingers to the ground.

Ling settles the robe over his desk chair, the train of it fanning out over the floor like a great gingko leaf. He leans back against his desk, his palms pressing flat into the wood. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

A flippant answer unfurls reflexively on Ed’s tongue. He bites it back at the last second and actually considers the question. “Strange,” he says after a long moment. “Nothing about the past twenty-four hours has felt real. And everything here is so different. In the dark it’s like walking through a dream.”

“I don’t think things will feel normal for you here for a long time,” Ling admits. “Though tomorrow might be more like a nightmare than a dream, I’m afraid.”

“Why? Because of the announcement?”

Ling nods, his gaze cast on the floor. “I’m sorry to put you through it. Some of the clans will be bloodthirsty, having their chance at power torn away from them like this. There are people who will be unkind to you, and I will not always be around to stay their tongues.”

It rattles Ed a bit to hear it. He doesn’t know what to expect—cattiness or cruelty, barbed words or daggers. Still, he grew up hard and fast. The last few years have been quiet, but he still remembers how to fight to win. “I saved the world once,” he says. “I think I can handle some trussed-up bullies.”

Ling smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good,” he says.

A long moment of quiet passes before Ed realizes he’s been staring. He clears his throat and looks away, his eyes landing on the bed. Apropos of nothing, he asks, “Are all beds in Xing like this?”

Ling laughs in surprise. “Uh, no. No, this monstrosity was designed specifically for the emperor.”

He grimaces. “Will mine be like this?”

Ling huffs out a laugh. “I can have it arranged to your liking.”

When Ed raises an eyebrow at him, Ling says, “I want you to be comfortable.” It’s far too earnest.

Ed doesn’t know what to say to that. Something molten-hot spills out in his chest.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the other room. “Well. I’m beat. I’m just gonna…go settle in.”

Ling cocks his head, confusion sweeping across his face. “Settle in?”

“Yeah, the chase…” Ed doesn’t understand what’s not clicking here.

“Oh,” Ling says, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Oh, no, Ed, that’s not— that thing’ll break your back. You’re better off sleeping on the floor.” His expression quirks strangely. “I think one of the emperors died on it.”

Ed frowns. “Alright. Floor it is.” He takes a step towards the door and is tugged to a stop. He looks back and finds Ling’s long, thin fingers wrapped around his wrist. He drags his eyes up and finds Ling giving him an awkward look.

“Ed. I didn’t mean that literally.” He doesn’t let go.

Ed gives him a questioning look, his pulse rising.

Ling jerks his head in the direction of the bed. There’s a twitchy strain to his expression Ed doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “A small army could fit on that thing.”

“You want me…to sleep with you?”

He doesn’t realize what he’s said until he sees a flush climb across Ling’s cheeks. Then it’s his turn, his whole face burning.

Ling laughs stiltedly. He unwinds his fingers from around Ed’s wrist and drops them at his side. Ed watches them clench and unclench. “It’s a bid bed. Seems stupid to make you sleep on the floor.”

Ed stares at him, his pulse thrumming so hard he can’t think. This is a bad idea. All of this is a bad idea. At least he can excuse the marriage as a favor between friends. This is…something else. Maybe it isn’t for Ling, but it is for him. On the other hand, if he says no and sleeps on the floor instead, that would be an admission of a different kind, wouldn’t it? If he’s as apathetic as he’s pretending to be, why would he rather sleep on the floor than share a much more comfortable bed with his friend?

He doesn’t know how his life got so complicated.

“Alright,” he says. His voice comes out too soft for his liking.

Ling stares at him, his eyebrows jumping in minute surprise, before he nods sharply and turns abruptly around. Ed watches his back as he walks over to a giant armoire and pulls open a drawer. He pulls out a pair of silk pajamas like the ones he wore last night, this pair a pale silver color. Then, wordlessly, he yanks his undershirt over his head and starts changing. Ed’s teeth click shut, and he quickly busies himself with rifling through one of his bags for some sleep clothes.

They change in silence, the rustling of fabric far too loud. There’s an uncomfortable moment where they both turn and look at one another, unsure of how to proceed. Then Ling pulls his shoulders back and walks over to the bed, crawling onto the mattress. Ed waits a second, letting out a tense breath before following him.

He knees his way across the gigantic sea of mattress to the back wall and sits back against it. Avoiding looking at Ling, he runs his hand over the cream-colored sheets, rubbing the softness of them between his fingers. The bedding is a deep gold, embroidered in teal thread with an intricate tableau of fish jumping above the choppy surface of a river.

He hears movement and looks up. Ling is sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter a few feet away, his hands pulling his hair free from its pinned band. It spills down over his shoulders, a slight wave running through it. Ed can’t remember ever seeing it down when they were young. Now he’s seen it twice in the span of a single day. He wonders if Ling sleeps with it like this every night. He imagines it spread out over a pillow, Ling smiling with sleepy sweetness. Smiling at him. He could reach forward and push a strand of it behind his ear, finally find out whether it’s soft or coarse.

“Something wrong?”

Ed blinks. Ling’s staring at him, one of his eyebrows raised.

Ed looks away. He sinks down into the bed, tugging a pillow under his head and drawing the comforter up. “No. Just— tired.”

Ling hums in response. He leans over the edge of the bed to set his hair band down and then settles in beside Ed, leaving a sizeable gap between them. He turns on his side so they’re facing each other, his hair fanning out over the pillow. Fantasy and reality overlap, and Ed’s breath catches sharply in his throat.

“Thank you for doing this,” Ling says softly.

For a moment, Ed thinks he means sharing the bed. Then he realizes he means everything—the marriage, the move, the five-year sacrifice.

“I wouldn’t leave you to die,” he says.

Ling’s eyes flicker back and forth between his own. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but no words come out. The dim orange glow dancing across his cheekbone suddenly disappears, eaten up by cool shadows. Ed raises up on an elbow and looks out past the gigantic bed frame into the room beyond. The candle Ling set on his desk has blown out. He turns back to Ling, his expression questioning.

“There’s a draft,” Ling says.

“In the emperor’s bedroom?”

Ling smiles. “I haven’t told anyone. I like it.”

“Why?”

“It undoes all the cold perfection of this place. Makes it feel more like a home.”

It’s an awfully lonely thing to say. It’s hard not to think about how they were so close when they younger, only to become two distant, lonely people. Why didn’t you write me, he thinks. We could have had each other. Why did you cut me out?

Abruptly, Ling turns over onto his other side. “Goodnight, Ed,” he says.

Ed blinks at the nape of his neck, at the feathering of his hairline, stark against his pale skin. “Goodnight,” he says quietly. He falls asleep with his palm pressed to the cold stretch of sheet between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(((((((( it's emo hours
> 
> also, i made a twitter and a tumblr for fic writing and posting art bc why not!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaielleart)
> 
> [tumblr](https://kaielle.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

Ed wakes up alone in a giant, unfamiliar bed. He sits up and finds Ling sitting at his desk, the rosy light of dawn washing over him through the windows. He’s writing something, the scratching of his pen the only sound in the morning quiet. There’s a robe pulled on loosely over his pajamas, and his hair is pulled back in the old ponytail Ed’s seen so little of lately, his bangs rumpled with sleep.

Ling looks over at him, setting his pen down. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Ed groans and flops back on the mattress. It’s too early for this shit.

There’s the sound of a chair sliding back across the floor, followed by soft footsteps. Hands circle his ankles and yank him down halfway off the bed, making him squawk and flail his arms. He sits up as soon as he’s released. It turns out to be not the best idea, as Ling’s standing in between his legs and their faces are suddenly far too close. Ling grins down at him. “Get dressed,” he says. “We’ve got an imperial court to disappoint.”

Ed gives him a flat look. His eyes are barely open, still heavy with sleep. “I hate you.”

Unphased, Ling hums in response. “Best to get that out now, before we go play love-birds for the rest of the day.”

The notion of ‘playing’ sends Ed into a brief spiral. He thought this was purely political—that the court would know that. Are they pretending to be in love?

“Is this a love-marriage?” he asks, that sweaty sort of panic beginning to brew inside of him.

Ling blinks at him. “Oh. Yes. Did I not mention that?”

Ed’s going to throttle him. He’s going to murder the emperor in his own bedroom.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth, “you did not.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s good we’re sorting it out now! Imagine how awkward it would have been if I’d grabbed your hand and you’d punched the emperor in full view of the court.”

It feels like he’s short-circuiting, like the wires in his brain are sparking dangerously. At any moment he could catch fire and burn this all down around him.

“What about all that stuff about Amestris and forming an alliance? Isn’t that enough reason for us to marry?”

Ling gives him a quizzical look and barks out a laugh. “No, no. While securing an alliance with Amestris is certainly a big point in our favor, it isn’t enough to win the court over. They’d rather see one of their own on the throne than an Amestrian. In their eyes, Xing has existed this long on our own—alliances aren’t necessary. No, the only thing that supersedes their perceived right to the throne is a love match. No one wants to contest an emperor’s heart, especially one as charmingly unpredictable as myself.”

Ed feels a headache coming on. He rubs his fingers into his temples. It’s not enough that he agreed to marry Ling, carrying this stupid nebulous ball of feelings around in his chest all these years like he has. It’s not enough that he’s seen him in various states of undress with his hair down, that they’ve shared a bed together. No, now he has to pretend like he’s in love with him for the court while somehow not giving away his brainless, idiotic, moronic feelings to Ling. God, he isn’t going to last the night.

A hand presses into his shoulder. Ed drops his hands from his temples and Ling meets his eyes. “I don’t think we’ll have to do too much acting,” he says. Ed’s heart beats hot and heavy in his throat, time stretching molasses-slow. That is, until Ling continues: “We spent a lot of time together in our youth, and under some rather extreme circumstances. It’s easy to imagine falling in love like that.”

His fingers squeeze Ed’s shoulder. Ed’s heart splinters.

Ling lets his hand drop and grins. “Me, the handsome prince from a far-off land, and you, the golden hero. Quite the fairytale, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ed says, his voice dull and brittle. “How sweet.”

Ling steps back and claps his hand. “Best get ready then. The court’s waiting on us.” He leans over to tug on a tasseled cord hanging on the wall above his desk, ringing a far-off bell. A few moments later there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” he says.

An older man in brown robes enters, a marigold bundle of fabric folded over his arms.

“Ed, this is Jian Lin, the royal tailor. He made you this robe based on measurements Al gave us. He’ll help you get dressed. I’ll be in the sitting room, getting fawned over by a team of rabid attendants.” Ling leaves them, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Ed stares at Jian Lin, unsure what to do. Jian Lin doesn’t seem to need any prompting, though; he shakes loose the bundle in his arms, revealing another intricately embroidered set of robes, these with birds needled on them in crimson. He says something to Ed in Xingese, and then, when Ed stares at him with petrified doe eyes, he plucks at his clothing, gesturing for Ed to undress. Ed does as he’s instructed and lets himself be wrapped up in the robes, staring straight ahead at nothing.

When it’s done, Jian Lin bows and leaves wordlessly. Ed’s nearly dizzy with the bizarre turnover of it all. He sits down for a moment at Ling’s desk to collect himself and catches sight of himself in a small mirror. His hair is abysmal. He unwinds the braid and combs his fingers through it, trying his best to smooth the various shaggy bits and pieces. Then he re-braids it, tighter and more orderly than he normally would, trying to remember what Ling’s braid looked like yesterday as they were leaving the train station. When it’s done, he stares at his reflection. He doesn’t recognize himself. The planes of his face have gotten sharp with age without him ever properly noticing before, and it’s weird to see his hair pulled back off his face like this. Then there’s the robes, which seem to beam with how richly they’re dyed. Golden robes, golden hair, golden eyes. He looks like a goddamn sunflower. He pushes himself up off the chair and heads into the sitting room before he does something stupid, like cut all his hair off with Ling’s letter opener out of spite.

Ling’s standing in the main doorway speaking with Lan Fan, groomed into the perfect image of an emperor. Ed immediately misses his messy ponytail from earlier, his hair now pulled back in a taught bun. Hearing Ed approach, Ling turns around and looks him over from toe to crown, his eyes lingering on his face. He tilts his head. “Huh,” he says.

Ed shoulders past him into the hallway. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles. There’s a small herd of people in the hall: two unfamiliar guards, Lan Fan, and Feng. The latter bows his head minutely, to which Ed just nods stiffly in return.

Ling steps out behind him and they all come to attention. “This way,” he says, and he holds his crooked elbow out to Ed, the wide sleeve of his purple robe streaming down. Ed twines their arms together, determinedly looking forward. Then Ling draws him down the hallway to his impending demise, Lan Fan and Feng trailing silently behind them.

+

The palace is a labyrinth—Ed’s sure it was designed this way to drive pitiful outsiders like himself to madness. Ling leads them down innumerable hallways, some of which open to the outdoors in little roofed pathways connecting sets of buildings. The air is dry but mild, a far cry from Amestris this time of year. Then they’re delving back inside and up a set of brilliantly polished wooden steps. A pair of large gilded doors waits for them at the top, a set of guards positioned on either side. They bow deeply upon their arrival, and two of them haul open the doors.

“Chin up, shoulders back, tongue sharp,” Ling murmurs.

Ed glances at him, their eyes meeting. There’s an unfamiliar sense of nervousness gnawing at him. He doesn’t know these people—who cares what they think of him? That’s what he wants to believe, what he’s trying to drill into his head. He’s a diplomat now, though. Likeability is a huge part of that. No more explosive episodes when he’s frustrated or upset, no more saying whatever he feels whenever he feels it. Ling seems to be doing his part to convince Ed he doesn’t have to change, but Ed knows he’s being a friend rather than a leader. When it comes down to it, he came here to protect Ling, to keep him alive and on the throne. He can’t imagine being his usual impulsive, reactive self will get him far on that front.

His words have abandoned him. He gives Ling a short nod. Ling draws him through the doors.

The beauty of the court overwhelms him. The floor and ceiling are made up of intricately patterned tiles in shades of brown and red, and long, prismatic chandeliers hang down, brimming with golden light. To their left, a giant throne sits. Huge gilded panels loom behind it, fanned out with all the bold demand of a peacock. Ferocious creatures sit atop each one and leer down at the court below. He recognizes some of them: the phoenix atop the central panel, its wings outspread in flight, and the dragons on either side of it. The others are hard to discern, their faces twisted up in snarls and scowls. To its left, a simpler chair cast in silver sits. Vines crawl up the frame, dotted with beautiful metallic flowers. It all rests upon a lavish rug, which trails down a set of stairs into the main part of the court.

The people are just as bright and dazzling. Women with their hair pulled back by jeweled combs, men with elaborate headdresses, their robes a hundred different colors. Their eyes are all focused on Ling and him, cold and curious like a murder of beady-eyed crows. His fight-or-flight kicks in, his muscles jerking. Ling squeezes the inside of his arm where they’re still linked together, grounding him. He relaxes instantly, though the sick knot in his throat doesn’t fade.

Ling sneaks a sideways glance at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up just enough for him to notice. Then he locks eyes with the crowd and begins to speak.

Ed can’t understand a word of it, of course, but he does pick up his own name, which is followed by tittering in the crowd and a mix of glared daggers and wide eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, meeting their gazes. Many of them drop, though there’s a particular man in the front who meets him with such intense malignity he almost steps backwards on instinct. There’s a medallion hanging around his neck with a flame etched into the bronze, something he sees on a handful of other court members. Councilmembers maybe, or some type of religious order. Neither guess helps him to figure out why this man seems to hate him so much more vehemently than anyone else.

He lets his eyes skip over him and instead seeks out his brother. He finds him on the edge of the crowd, a much shorter woman at his side. It takes him a good long moment to place the big, dark eyes and heart-shaped face. He realizes, startled, that it’s Mei, all grown up. She wears her hair differently now, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised by that. Five years is a long time, especially from the reference point of adolescence. She gives him a funny look, smiling with distant eyes. He looks from her to Al and is met with a warm, encouraging smile and a subtle thumbs up. Ed quirks his mouth up in the most inconspicuous smile he can manage before looking back at the crowd.

Ling speaks for a moment longer before looking down at Ed, a glint in his eye.

“Your Emperor Consort Edward Elric,” he says in Amestrian, slipping his arm free and taking a slight step backwards. Every eye in the room focuses on Ed. He feels on display, like Ling’s pushed him stumbling into a spotlight. He forces himself to still, so he doesn’t twitch or fidget, and casts his gaze slowly over the crowd, doing his best to ignore the horrible hammering of his heart.

The man with the medallion around his neck who had earlier looked at him so balefully addresses Ling. “We did not realize you had your sights set on Amestris, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Ed looks back in mild panic.

Ling meets his eyes. “For many years now,” he says.

There’s not a hint of irony on his face. Ed’s heart falters and restarts before he remembers the game they’re playing. At least he doesn’t have to battle against the ruddy blush breaking out across his face—it’s just part of the act.

“It is highly unusual for an emperor to become betrothed without first consulting the council,” the man continues. There’s a young woman at his side dressed in a deep dusky pink, maybe a couple years younger than Ed, whose black eyes flit back and forth between the man and Ling with cool curiosity. The ruby earrings weighing down her earlobes suggest she’s a rather important person. Ed files away her fox-like face for later.

“I am an unusual emperor,” Ling replies. It closes the conversation with cool finality. The man’s face twitches.

The woman in pink standing beside him takes a half-step forward and sinks gracefully into a bow. “Your love honors us,” she says.

All around her people start doing the same, lowering like dominoes. The man eventually falls in with them, rather than be the only one left standing in front of the emperor.

Ed doesn’t know how to react. Even after saving the world, no one treated him like this. He’s sure he looks like a gaping fish, just standing there staring at the masses of bodies laid out before him. Ling steps forward again and gently wraps his hand around his. Ed turns to look at him and he gives Ed a soft smile, squeezing his palm. Ed swallows. It does little to combat his bafflement, fanning it larger instead. His stomach flips like he’s just dropped several stories.

Ling mouths the word ‘rise’ at him. Ed stares at him in confusion before understanding suddenly settles in.

“Rise,” he says to the crowd, surprised by the evenness of his voice. In one giant wave, they do.

+

Hour after hour of introductions passes, people approaching the throne dais in ones and twos to supplicate themselves. The cold man with the medallion around his neck eventually approaches with the woman in pink, introducing himself as Councilor Wong Xiao Bo and the woman as Lady Wong Zi Yi, his daughter. There’s clear enmity between he and Ling, though why it’s permitted Ed has no idea. He thought as emperor Ling had the power to do away with annoyances like Xiao Bo; Ling has certainly gone out of his way to make it seem that way. Why allow the insolence when he could have him stripped of his title or banished?

His daughter is remarkably well-mannered in comparison. She smiles kindly not only at Ling but also at Ed, addressing him as 'His Imperial Highness,' which quite nearly floors him. Studying her up close, she's very beautiful. Dark, sweeping brows above matching eyes; flushed cheeks; deep brown hair swept up in an elegant hairstyle. If Ling wasn't so concerned with upsetting the power balance between clans, he imagines she could've made a good consort. Much better than him, at the very least.

He quickly realizes he isn't alone in this thinking.

Xiao Bo rakes his eyes over Ed, his distaste barely concealed. "Are you the same Edward Elric that fought alongside His Imperial Majesty in the Philosopher's War?" he asks.

It's an interesting name for what they were involved in, one that very clearly prioritizes one component of the various Promised Day conflicts over others.

"Yes," he says. "We fought together."

"What a tragic setting for a love story," he says, his eyes narrowing. "It must have been hard for you, to be away from one another for so many years. Tell me, were the letters enough to sustain you?"

Ling perks up at that, sitting up in his chair. He shifts, angling his body more towards Ed. There's a bird-like sharpness to his expression. Ed tries to catch his gaze for a hint on what to do here, but Ling either refuses to help him or doesn't notice.

He decides to go with the truth. If he's learned anything in all his years of lying, it's that a little truth will get you a long way. "There were no letters," he says. "We haven't spoken since the war's end."

"Haven't spoken?" the man echoes, raising a skeptical brow. His eyes flit back and forth between he and Ling. "And yet you've remained in love, all this time, not a word between you?"

Ed's chest hollows out, panic flaring at the edges. This doesn't feel like a game. This feels like something out of his nightmares.

Ling steps in smoothly. "Soulmates can subsist on the very idea of each other for their whole lives. We knew we would one day meet again; words were not necessary."

The word ‘soulmates’ echoes painfully inside Ed’s skull.

"It's just that it's remarkable, is all,” Xiao Bo says. “Love of that kind is rare."

"It is indeed," Ling nods. "I would not trade it for anything."

Something ugly erupts behind the Xiao Bo's placid expression. "I wonder at you having found it so young, and in such a wildly different culture. Is your _soulmate_ knowledgeable in our traditions, or will you be throwing the rest of them out for him along with your duty to the clans?”

“ _Father_ ,” Zi Yi hisses, her sweetness going up in flames. Her pretty flush reddens with anger, or perhaps embarrassment. Maybe both, Ed thinks, studying the tremor in her jaw and the heat in her eyes.

“You have passed over my daughter for a gilded Amestrian rat,” Xiao Bo says, leaning closer, his voice trembling with quiet fury. Ed’s fingers dig hard into the metal armrests of his chair as he forces himself to sit still and keep silent. He could knock this man flat with a single blow. He could wipe him out here in front of everyone, deliver the heaping dose of shame he so clearly needs. He nearly vibrates with the tension of holding himself back. “You could not find a more perfect wife in all of Xing, yet you choose a lowly foreign soldier you rolled around with during the war over her. You disgrace the whole of the empire with this.” Beside him, Zi Yi’s face is white.

The warmth drains from Ling’s eyes. His small smile stays in place, though it’s chilled dangerously. “His Imperial Highness is the hero of the great Philosopher’s War, the savior of the planet,” he says, words lethally soft. The corner of his mouth quirks in cold amusement. “I could not aim any higher if I proposed to the moon.”

He turns to Zi Yi, some of the frost thawing from his expression. “You are a lovely person, Lady Wong. I hope you understand this is a matter of the heart, for which you can claim no fault.”

Zi Yi inclines her head. “You are most generous, Your Imperial Majesty,” she says shakily.

Ling’s attention snakes back to Xiao Bo. “You are lucky you are a coward and speak sedition so softly—if anyone else in the court had heard you, there would be a blade between your ribs.”

The anger in Xiao Bo’s eyes burns hotter, though the way his throat bobs suggests to Ed that he’s afraid.

“You have insulted your emperor gravely, and your emperor consort worse still. I think it only fair to allow him to decide your fate.”

Ling turns to him, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s happening. He looks over Xiao Bo, taking in the clenched fists at his side and the ugly twist of his mouth. His eyes flicker to Lady Zi Yi beside him. There’s terror writ plainly across her face. He knows what he’s meant to say, how he’s meant to act, but it doesn’t make any of it any easier. “Let him go,” he says, though the words leave a foul taste in his mouth. His hand itches with the bright need to hit something, preferably Xiao Bo’s arrogant face. “But if he insults your rule again show him no mercy.”

He turns back to Ling, who meets him with gleaming eyes. “A much kinder sentence than you deserve,” he tells Xiao Bo. “You are dismissed. Reflect on your dishonorable actions here today, and do not dare speak to us again until you have bettered yourself.”

For a moment, Xiao Bo stands firmly where he is. Then Zi Yi tugs sharply on his sleeve. He looks down at her and a heavy look passes between them. At last Xiao Bo bows sharply and walks down the steps, Zi Yi trailing behind him. They twine through the crowd of courtiers gathered at the back of the hall and leave through the main entrance.

Ed turns back to Ling, buzzing with anger and a thousand different questions. Ling’s hand cups his elbow. He leans in and murmurs, “Later.”

Ed gives him a sharp look. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can stand after that. Ling’s eyes flick back and forth between his. He nods with some sort of understanding. He motions behind them at an attendant and says something in Xingese. The attendant then addresses the crowd, projecting his voice across the room. When he finishes, the courtiers all bow and begin to depart.

Ling tugs at his elbow. “Come on.”

Ed lets himself be led back out the private doors they entered through and into the hall. Ling drags him around the corner and into an empty room with maps spread out over sturdy tables, a fire burning in the hearth. Lan Fan and Feng position themselves outside the door.

“What the hell was that?” Ed hisses.

“I told you they wouldn’t be very welcoming,” Ling says, having the audacity to smile breezily at him.

Ed’s patience has run dry; he hits Ling in the arm, eliciting a childishly indignant “Ow!”

“You said they’d be dicks to me, not to you! I mean, _fuck_ , Ling!” He whirls around and starts pacing, a feral energy spilling out within him. “You’re the emperor! How could you let him say those things to you?”

“To me?” Ling laughs. “You’re upset over what he said to _me_?”

Ed scowls at him. “That man has no respect for you. None. It’s a wonder it took you screwing them all over for you to worry about assassination—I’m amazed they haven’t torn you to pieces already.”

Ling waves him off, which has the adverse effect of making his anger boil over into white hot violence. “Most of them do respect me. It’s just the bitter ones like Wong back there that make things…difficult.”

“Why haven’t you done something about it?” he hisses.

“Wong is a complicated case,” Ling says, finally dropping the nonchalant act. He leans back against one of the tables, firelight flickering across the side of his face. “He holds a very influential seat on the council and is extremely well-respected. If Mei or I hadn’t returned from the war with the philosopher’s stone, he would’ve been made emperor. Some of his fellow councilors wish that had been the case. If I were to rid myself of him somehow, my situation here would only get worse.”

Ed wants to tear his hair out. “I just— you’re the emperor. I don’t get it how they can act like this.”

Ling shrugs, staring at a tile in the floor. “It’s what happens when there’s a competition for the throne. For some people the competition never ends.”

Ed just scowls harder, his shoes clicking harshly against the floor.

After a while, Ling asks, “Are you okay?”

Ed shoots him a glare. “Just peachy.”

There are footsteps and then hands are gripping his biceps and forcibly holding him in place. He meets Ling’s eyes, shrinking away slightly at the intensity with which they search him.

“I’m sorry for what he said to you,” Ling says. “It was far, far out of line.”

“I don’t care what said he about me,” he says, though he realizes as he does that he’s lying. The bit about him being a convenient fuck during the war has wormed its way under his skin and is quietly festering. Is that what all the courtiers think of him? It rankles him that the false version of him in their minds has achieved the thing that’s tortured him for years. He wants to be that poor effigy they’ve crafted. The fact of it dumps an incendiary dose of shame onto the fury already blazing under his skin.

“I do,” Ling says. His fingers are hot as brands where they dig into his skin. “I care.”

Ed stops for a moment and just stares at him, breathing hard. Ling’s face gives away nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling, a master class in diplomacy. It stokes his barely contained irritation. The whole time they knew each other during the war, Ed was never sure where they stood with one another, what this thing was between them. Then five years passed of no communication at all, which was somehow less than the bare minimum they’d communicated before. Six years of this and he has no idea what it even is. In that singular, crystalline moment, it’s intolerable.

He steps back out of Ling’s hold. “I need some fucking air,” he says, making his way towards the door.

“Ed—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Just— I need to be alone for a bit.”

No one stops him on his way out, and Feng has the decency to follow him at a distance as he turns down random hallways, losing himself in the labyrinth of the palace. A short eternity later, he comes out on a vine-covered balcony and realizes he’s reached a dead end. He’s catching his breath and yanking his braid loose when Feng appears in the doorway.

“Where’s the nearest telephone?” Ed asks him, still slightly breathless. “I need to make a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was both really painful to write and really fun. i just love writing catty characters. and also heartsick idiots 😌 OH, GAY PINING, WE'RE REALLY IN IT NOW
> 
> note: with xing being based off of china in canon, i've continued that in certain places where it felt appropriate (architecture, clothing, names, etc.). if you spy anything that wasn't done well/sensitively, please let me know! also: we are playing VERY fast and loose with court politics bc i am but a humble court jester.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaielleart)
> 
> [tumblr](https://kaielle.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

Feng takes him to a private room in the central building, speaking with the attendant there before dismissing them. He opens the door for Ed and Ed drifts through, his body thrumming with tension. The room is rather small for the palace’s standards, the size of a small study, with a crackling fireplace despite the temperate end-of-summer weather outside. An armchair is positioned by the window with a small side table set beside it, a black telephone sitting atop it. Ed stares at the phone for a moment, suddenly nervous. Thirty seconds ago the idea of it was a lifeline, and now his heart is in his throat. He clenches and unclenches his hands and forces himself to sit down.

“Could you wait outside?” he asks Feng awkwardly.

“Of course,” Feng says, bowing his head. He closes the doors behind him as he leaves.

Ed stares at the phone. The numbers on the dial are different, but he remembers enough from some of Al’s letters over the years to recognize the characters. He takes a deep breath before slotting his finger into the dial and pushing it along.

The dial tone sounds for a long, nauseating moment before the line clicks.

“Rockbell Automail Repair.”

The familiarity of Winry’s voice settles some of his frayed edges. Breathing is easier. “Hey, Win.”

“Ed?” she says, incredulous. “Where are you? You sound like you’re calling through a tin can.”

Nerves fizzles in his gut. “Yeah, about that…I’m kind of in Xing?”

“Oh,” Winry says, sounding surprised. “That’s nice. Are you finally visiting Al?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly.”

Winry’s quiet for a second. “What’s going on, Ed?” she asks, suspicion in her voice.

“I’m, um. I’m engaged. To Ling.” He winces.

“If this is some sort of weird joke—”

“It’s not,” he says hurriedly. “I’m being serious.”

Winry goes quiet again. “Um. Wow. Okay.”

Fuck. He shouldn’t have done this. What was he thinking? “Sorry. I know it’s kind of weird.”

“No, no! I’m just surprised. I thought you guys didn’t talk anymore—a telegram would seem out of left field, much less an engagement.”

“We haven’t. Talked, that is.” He sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Story of your life,” she says, a teasing smile in her voice. Ed relaxes a bit.

“So how’d it happen?” she asks. He can tell by the rustling sounds that she’s settling in and wrapping the phone cord around her finger like she always does. “As my one and only ex-boyfriend you’re duty-bound to tell me everything.”

Ed huffs out a laugh.

“You know how Al was supposed to visit me this week?”

She hums in response.

“Well, Ling and Lan Fan tagged along.”

“He met Granny? And lived to tell the tale?”

“Barely. She threatened to kill him.”

“Sounds about right,” she says sagely. Her voice grows excited. “Tell me about the proposal. Was it romantic? What am I saying, the guy crossed the desert for you after five years of yearning, of course it was romantic.”

His stomach twists into sickly knots. “Win,” he says, “it isn’t like that.”

“He’s not much of a romantic? I gotta say, that’s surprising. Considering how theatrical he is, I would have thought it’d be all doves and rose petals.”

“No, I mean it’s not that kind of engagement. It’s political. Fake.”

The line goes silent for a long, icy moment.

Eventually he can’t take it anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight the pressure headache beginning to build. “Please say something.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she replies. He can’t tell if the airiness of her voice is shock or anger. “God, Ed, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“He’s in trouble. It was either this or let him get killed.”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you’re that obtuse.”

His hackles rise. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “We broke up so one day you could be with someone you were actually in love with. This is literally the complete opposite of that.”

“It’s not like I sought this out!”

“No, you just rented out your heart to somebody and uprooted your life in a single a day because they asked.”

He lets out a long breath.

“You’ve spent so much of your life living for other people, Ed,” she says gently. “Don’t you think this one thing, this one really _important_ thing, should just be for you?”

It’s his turn to not know what to say.

Winry makes a soft, frustrated sound. “Look, I’m not trying to chastise you, okay? I just want you to be happy.”

She switches tracks again. “How’s it been going, this fake engagement?”

The events of the past couple days condense into a hard weight in his stomach. All the little flashes of memory and feeling, touches and glances and quips. He feels suddenly like he’s been running an uphill battle, and he’s too exhausted to continue.

“I think I fucked up, Win,” he admits.

“What do you mean?”

“That stuff about falling in love and keeping this one thing for me…” It’s strange to finally say it out loud. “I think I did. I don’t think this is as fake for me as it should be—like it is for Ling.”

The line goes quiet. “Oh, Ed,” Winry says softly.

“I had a thing for him when we were kids,” he continues. Now he’s started he can’t stop. If he stops the words will never come out again and he’ll be stuck carrying them around forever. “I never really acknowledged it, though, not even to myself. I thought I loved you, that you and I were supposed to be together. It was all so confusing.”

Everyone had been rooting for them back then. He loved Winry, and he knew she was pretty, but he never quite got the good sort of butterflies when he thought of being with her. It took him a long time to realize that the way he flustered when he was in romantic situations with her wasn’t the result of a crush but the absence of one. They’d been together for two years before he finally figured it all out and worked up the courage to talk to her about it. She was remarkably understanding about it, though part of that was likely due to the fact their relationship had started to fizzle out a few months prior. They broke things off with a mutual sense of relief.

Ed takes a deep breath and attempts to sooth the trembling, nervous thing inside of himself. He’s only ever told Al this part, and only in the vaguest of details. “There was this night on the road towards the end of it all where he made it seem like maybe he felt the same way, but then he went back to Xing and never spoke to me again. I thought I’d gotten over it, but the minute I saw him again it was like the lights switched on inside me and there it was, just as I’d left it.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Win,” he says. “We’re not even married yet and I already feel like I’m going crazy. I have to spend every day for the next five years right next to him feeling this way.”

Winry lets him devolve for a bit with his head in his hand before she gently asks, “Ed, what happened on the road?”

He’s barely been holding the memory at bay for the past two days; as soon as he gives it quarter it opens up its jaws and swallows him whole.

+

It’s their last night in Kanama before they launch their attack on Central Command. Darius and Heinkel went out earlier and hunted their dinner while he and Greed cleaned up the camp and gathered firewood. The chimeras took down a stag and exhausted themselves; they stumble off to their tents earlier than usual that night. It leaves he and Greed alone at the fire together.

Greed leans back on his palms. “Excited to play the hero tomorrow?” he asks, smirking like always.

Truth is, Ed barely feels anything. The events of the next day loom over him so large he can’t comprehend the enormity of them. Somehow he’s managed to become so anxious he’s run full-circle into apathy.

“Not really,” he says honestly.

Greed barks out a laugh.

“Well I can’t wait to tear my sorry excuse for a family to pieces. I think I’ll miss this, though, when it’s all over.”

Ed raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

Greed gestures broadly at their surroundings. “This. Travelling around, every day different than the one before. Falling asleep to the bugs. Those two surly old men.”

“Sounds like you like being part of a team,” Ed says.

Greed pulls a face at him. “Hardly. I like having minions to order around.”

Ed just rolls his eyes. He’s ceased wasting his energy on Greed’s empty annoyances.

Greed starts rambling about all the things he’s going to do as emperor and Ed only half listens. It goes on like that for a while, until all of a sudden Greed goes still for a long moment. Ed turns to look at him.

When Greed blinks, his irises gleam black.

“Long time, no see,” Ed says, a gentle smile unfurling at the corner of his mouth without any of his say so.

“Miss me?” Ling says, grinning back at him. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Me neither.”

Ling kicks him in the shin and Ed laughs. Ling twists around, looking behind them at where Darius and Heinkel’s tent is pitched. “Do you think they’re actually asleep?” he asks, turning back around.

Ed shrugs. “Probably.”

Ling hums in response, drumming his fingers against his thighs. It strikes Ed sharply as odd. Ling’s not a twitchy person. They’re alike in that way. What exists as nervous energy in other people is more often transmuted into feral bullheadedness in the two of them.

“Is something up?” he asks.

Ling’s eyes flit to his. There’s a soft sense of surprise on his face. “Why do you ask?”

Ed doesn’t respond, just stares at him expectantly.

Ling sighs and rubs his palms down his thighs. “Things seem to be coming to a close, don’t they?”

“One way or another,” he says. The unusual little divot between Ling’s brows seems to deepen at that.

“I’ll be going back to Xing,” he says. His voice is strangely distant.

“You’ll have what you came here for,” Ed says. He leans in and raps a knuckle against the homunculus mark on the back of Ling’s hand. When he moves to pull back, Ling’s hand darts out and grabs his, holding him still. Ed stares at him in question, his heart beating hard in his throat. Ling’s eyes flick back and forth between his own, searching for something. He has a strange energy about him. Ed would call it desperation if he was dealing with anybody else.

“Maybe,” Ling says at last. “But I won’t have what I really want, will I?”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. It’s a bit late in the game to be getting philosophical about things. “What, you don’t want to be emperor anymore?”

“I do,” Ling replies. The crease between his brows remains. “That’s always been less of a desire than a necessity, though.”

“You want something else? On top of a whole empire?” he teases.

Ling smiles at him. There’s a shade of sadness to it. “I guess I’ve become a bit avaricious.”

Ed stares at him, confused. The firelight flickers a deep orange across his face, lashing across the curve of his high cheek, the plane of his temple, the flat of his nose. His eyes are bright with it.

“What’s this about?” Ed asks. Ling shifts and Ed realizes Ling’s still grasping his hand.

“You really don’t have any idea?”

He slowly shakes his head.

Ling’s expression falls. He gives Ed a bittersweet smile. “That’s probably for the best. Less complicated that way.”

He lets go of Ed’s hand and seems to pull into himself, straightening his posture and leaning slightly out of Ed’s space. Ed’s heart sinks. It feels like he’s gravely misstepped somewhere along the line, though he doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know how.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Do what?” Ling asks breezily, sweeping the melancholy from his smile.

“Pretend,” he hisses. Anger is beginning to smolder inside him, bright and irrational. “I hate that shit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to upset you, now would I?” There’s something ugly under Ling’s placid expression, and something nebulous and vital further under that. “Might set off that fiery temper of yours.”

“Why are you acting like this?” he demands. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Edward Elric’s telling me to communicate _my_ emotions? I must be in some real trouble, then.”

Ed ignores the jab and the raw scrape it drives between his ribs. “This isn’t about me.”

Ling laughs. “You can be so stupid sometimes.”

Ed punches him in the shoulder. “Stop being a dick.”

Ling gives him a look and something shifts. He’s quiet for a moment, visibly wrestling with something. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” he says softly.

“So don’t,” Ed replies.

“But what if things don’t go the way we want them to tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll be pissed we wasted our last moments together sniffling in the woods.”

Ling huffs out a laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Ling gives him a wry look. “Hardly.”

They both stare at the fire, drifting. The crickets and frogs turn the silence between them into something loud. Ling starts drumming his fingers against his thighs again. Finally, Ed can’t take it anymore.

“So, are you not—”

Ling darts close and kisses him. His lips press slightly off-center onto Ed’s, cool from the nighttime air. His hands remain pressed to his thighs. Ed’s so caught off guard he can’t even kiss back. He just stares at Ling’s scrunched-shut eyes, feeling like a massive shock has short-circuited him.

After a short eternity of Ed’s heart pounding bright and sharp against the wall of his chest, Ling pulls back. They stare at each other with wide eyes. Ed opens his mouth to say something, though what he has no idea. Ling’s breath hitches, and in the tiny sliver of time between one second and another his eyes gleam purple.

Greed grimaces with Ling’s face. “Well that was uncomfortable.”

Ed’s fingers curl hard into his palms. “Bring him back,” he says with slow, careful measure, barely containing the volatile cocktail of emotions reacting inside of him.

“No can do. The coward tucked tail and ran. Couldn’t force him back if I wanted to.”

Ed lets out a harsh sound of frustration. He stands up, vibrating with tension. He stares into the fire, unable to look at Ling, no matter who’s currently pulling his strings. “That was a fucking childish thing to do.”

“No arguments here,” Greed says.

Ed can still feel the kiss like a brand, can still see the wide-eyed way Ling looked at him afterwards. It overwhelms him, makes him feel crazy. He stalks off into the tree line, needing to be anywhere else. He winds between trunks and branches, replaying the way Ling’s mouth had felt against his over and over again; his feet carry him forward mindlessly. Eventually he runs into a stream. He sits down on the bank and stares at the full moon above him, listening to the water as it gently flows along.

He sits out there for hours. Nobody comes to find him.

+

He gives Winry the short version. “He kissed me. We never talked about it.”

The line goes quiet again. “Fuck,” she sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Well, if he kissed you, then he must’ve felt something for you, right?”

“I don’t know. We were kids back then, and the world was supposed to end the next day. There’s a lot of reasons he might have done it.” A lot of reasons which he’d thought up and turned over obsessively throughout the years.

She sighs again. “I don’t know how you always manage to get yourself into these messes.”

He smiles faintly. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

“Do you want my advice, or did you just need to get that off your chest?”

He mulls it over. “Advice would be nice.”

“I think you should tell him. Before the wedding.” Before he can protest, she pushes on. “I know you think this is life and death or whatever, but you can’t keep martyring yourself, Ed. Five years is a large chunk of your life to be spent miserable, especially on top of the childhood you already gave up. You can’t throw away your life like this.”

Her words pull the rug out from under him, leaving him petrified and numb.

“Just think about it, okay?” she says, her voice sounding far, far away. It bounces around his head tinnily.

“Yeah, alright,” he manages.

“I love you, you big idiot. Call me whenever, okay?”

“Okay, love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He sets the phone back on the base. For a while he just sits there, staring unseeing at the fireplace.

Winry’s right of course—he shouldn’t marry Ling without being honest with him. Ling doesn’t deserve that. The idea of admitting how he feels—how he’s felt for years and years—makes him feel sick, though. He doesn’t know which would be the worse pain to bear: telling Ling he has feelings for him and ruining their friendship they’ve only just renewed, or keeping his feelings to himself while he lives in Ling’s orbit day in and day out for the next five years. He drops his head into his hands. Once again, for the thousandth time in his life, he’s fucked.

+

He winds up asking Feng if there’s a training room somewhere on the grounds, feeling like if he doesn’t work off some of this horrible energy he’s built up he’ll explode. Feng leads him to an outdoor ring on the other side of the palace, in a wing he doesn’t think he’s been to yet. There are a few small groups already training, each in different types of clothing. Different clans, he thinks. Maybe the councilors’ guards.

When they catch sight of Feng, and Ed behind him, they stop in their tracks, halting swords mid-strike. They bow quickly.

One of them, a man dressed in deep orange, asks, “Would you like us to clear out of the ring, Your Imperial Highness?”

“No, thank you,” Ed says. He begins shrugging out of his top-most robe, folding it over a bench beside him. “Carry on.”

They all give him wary looks but return to what they were doing. Ed turns to Feng. “Would you spar with me?”

Feng blinks at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Spar? You know, fight?”

“Apologies, Your Imperial Highness. I know what it means. It’s just… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Ed bristles. “I don’t really care about good ideas right now.”

Feng stares at him. After a moment he says, “I am in your service,” and gives him a short bow.

“Great,” Ed says. He walks off to an open patch in the ring. “We’ll be doing hand-to-hand then. Don’t pull your punches.”

He thinks he hears Feng sigh behind him.

+

They’ve been going at it for what must be forty-five minutes at this point. Feng, to his credit, fights sincerely, clipping Ed on the ear and the temple. Ed can barely land a hit, which he supposes is proof of Feng’s skill as a guard, and something to be grateful for. Instead, it frustrates him. His heart isn’t fully in it, too aware that Feng is putting his body on the line out of a sense of duty, and that Ed shouldn’t abuse that. Still, he needs to exorcise this ugliness inside of him, and this dance between them isn’t accomplishing anything.

He calls it off eventually, grabbing some water from a passing servant and scowling as he drinks it. The frantic buzz of his emotions is still in his head, though his limbs now ache and there’s sweat dripping from his hairline.

“You’ve lost your touch.”

Ed’s spine goes rigid. He turns around and finds Ling leaning against the boundary wall, infuriating as ever. Lan Fan stands a few feet behind him next to Feng.

“What part of ‘I need to be alone’ do you not understand?” he says, glaring.

Ling raises his eyebrows. “You said ‘for a bit.’ It’s been a ‘bit.’”

Ed rolls his eyes.

“Besides, I heard the sounds of a pitiful fight and couldn’t bear to let it continue.”

Ed bristles, his temper flaring dangerously.

“I mean, honestly, Ed. You’ve grown lazy in your old age. Used to be you could fight your way out, five-on-one. Now you can’t take down a single guard?” Ling lets out a long, low whistle. It snaps Ed in two.

“I could kick your ass clear across this ring,” he snarls, prodding him hard in the chest. Ling stumbles back a step, and the corner of Ed’s mouth quirks up in sharp satisfaction.

Ling leans in close. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” His eyes gleam darkly.

Without a thought for Lan Fan, Feng, or imperial conduct, Ed lashes out. Ling, nimble as ever, hoists himself up onto the wall and flips back into the ring. Ed vaults himself over the wall after him. He goes for Ling’s face and Ling ducks out of reach, sweeping a leg out. Ed jumps it and follows him down, curling his fingers into Ling’s shoulders and somersaulting them over each other like a pair of street cats. Ling lands a punch up under his ribs into his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs. He knocks away Ed’s grip easily then and gets back on his feet while Ed struggles to do the same. He hasn’t fought like this in ages, not since he lived in Rush Valley and used to spar with Paninya. It burns him to think that Ling might be right, that he’s lost his touch. He turns on him with renewed rage.

He lands more hits than he did on Feng, scraping his knuckles into the curve of Ling’s jaw and making brutal contact with a high, sweeping kick to the ribs. Ling gives as good as he gets, though, bruising up Ed’s arms with a series of blindingly quick jabs and kicking him flat on his ass multiple times. They dodge around each other and dance in circles around the ring, diving, lurching, swerving. Ed doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, only that the sun is starting to sink in the sky, his lungs are raw, and his limbs feel like they’re splintering apart.

At some point Ling lunges towards him and Ed twists around him, swinging an arm around his waist and digging his feet into the ground to combat Ling’s momentum. He pulls them both down to the dirt, and Ling lands hard. Ed scrambles over him while he’s winded, pinning him down. Ling doesn’t struggle, just makes terrible, scraping gasps as he tries to reclaim the air Ed apparently knocked out of him. The beginning stirrings of worry start in Ed’s chest, cutting through the haze of his anger and frustration. Ling draws in a solid breath, though, and Ed drops his head in relief and exhaustion.

“You’re going to have to burn that robe,” Ling says between breaths. He scrunches his nose.

Ed laughs as much as he’s able to and falls over beside him on the dirt.

“Feel better?” Ling asks.

Ed looks over at him and studies his face. “How did you know I was down here?”

Ling shrugs his mouth. “I know you.”

There’s that falling feeling again in his chest. In the post-fight endorphin glow, he realizes with a piercing burst of clarity that this was all for him: the goading, the fighting, the relentlessness. Ling knew what he needed, and he gave it.

Something warm and sentimental worms around inside of him. He’s tired of feeling things, though. Exhausted, really.

He forces himself onto the balls of his feet and presses upright against the straining of his body. He extends a hand to Ling, who takes a long look at him before slipping his hand in his. Ed pulls him up.

“Thanks,” Ed says softly.

Ling gives him a tired smile. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you guys remember in like 2010 whenever a canonically straight male character was written as queer in a fanfic the girlfriend had to be the Big Bad? lmao what a terrible time
> 
> this chapter was so fun to write! and we finally got to the Kanama stuff! 😈🥳 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaielleart)
> 
> [tumblr](https://kaielle.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the day passes easily enough. They roam through the gardens together, much different in the daylight, and eat an early dinner on the bank of the pond. Ling has a servant invite Al and Mei, who arrive hand-in-hand.

"Edward," Mei says, grabbing one of his hands with a smile, "you're so handsome these days!"

Al coughs out a poorly disguised laugh while Ling cackles outright.

"These days?" Ed jokes.

"You were so short back then," Mei explains. “Your temper, too.”

"Careful, Mei," Al warns, his lips twitching. "That's dangerous territory."

“You’re one to talk,” Ed says to Mei, pointedly staring down his nose at her. He’s grown a few more inches since he was sixteen; Mei’s a good half-foot shorter than him.

Surprisingly, Mei just wraps her arms around him (though she steps hard on his toes in a way he suspects is entirely intentional). “It’s good to see you.”

Ed hesitatingly lays a hand on her back. “You, too.”

When he looks over her shoulders, Al is looking at them both with a warm, dopey smile.

They all sit down and eat together, devolving into various conversations. Ling and Mei wind up having what sounds like a half-hearted argument in Xingese, leaving Al and Ed to watch with morbid fascination.

Eventually, Al turns to him, nibbling on a dumpling. "Are you okay?" he asks him. "That was pretty brutal earlier."

So much has happened today that it takes Ed a second to realize what he's referring to: the mouthy councilor from this morning.

He shrugs, fiddling with the tail of the tie around his waist. "It wasn't...great. Takes more than that to scare me off, though."

"I know that," Al says, nudging him with his shoulder. "Still. It can't have been easy having to sit there while that asshole said those things about you. It wasn't easy for me to watch it.”

"I wanted to clock him real bad," Ed admits. "Wipe the fucking floor with him."

"I wish you had," Ling pipes in. Ed looks over and finds him with his chin resting lazily in his hand. Guess he and Mei have finished whatever they were hissing over. "Wong could use a good pummeling."

"He's awful," Mei agrees. "Just another power-hungry traditionalist that wants to put people in their place. I've had enough of them."

"As soon as he disgraces himself irredeemably on the public stage, he's gone," Ling says, which is news to Ed. He didn't realize Ling had a plan. "Until then we wait."

"What if he doesn't?" Ed posits. Ling's eyes slide to his. "I mean, who's to say he'll risk shaming himself like that?"

"He'll do anything to seize power over Xing. Eventually he'll make a move on me. I just have to trick him into doing it in front of witnesses."

"You're gambling with your life?"

Ling's mouth quirks. "Are you surprised?"

Lan Fan sighs heavily behind him.

The thing is, Ed shouldn't be surprised. Ling’s right: risking his own neck is his solution for everything. Even with a whole empire at his disposal, it's the only real leverage he has. It doesn’t mean Ed has to like it.

“The danger here is very real,” he says. “If he catches you off guard, he won’t hesitate. One slip-up and you’re dead.”

Ling blinks at him. “I didn’t know you cared,” he says, smiling his usual lazy grin. It’s not as convincing as it usually is.

“What precautions are you taking?” Ed demands.

Ling raises his eyebrows, amused. “Precautions?”

Ed glares at him.

Lan Fan steps forward, giving Ling a stern look. “All His Imperial Majesty’s food is tested for poison before he eats it, he doesn’t go anywhere without a guard, and we have emergency alkahestry circles hidden in all the major rooms in case an attempt is made on his life.”

That mollifies Ed a bit. Ling on the other hand, pouts as if Lan Fan’s just ruined his fun.

“The circles are sound, if you’re wondering,” Mei pipes up. “I did them myself.”

“They’re really impressive,” Al adds. Mei beams at him. “I helped her test one of them before they were put together. When they’re activated, a protective iron box tied to Ling’s chi signature shoots up and encapsulates him. No blade or bullet can pierce it.”

“What if the assassin practices alkahestry? They’ll just be able to transmute the box.”

“Councilor Wong thinks all alkahestry outside of the medical sphere is evil,” Al informs him. “He would never dirty himself by affiliating with it.”

“But murder is just fine?”

Ling snorts.

“Besides, Wong isn’t the only one who wants Ling dead, right?” Ed points out. “Do all of the other clanspeople share his outlook on alkahestry?”

Al, Mei, Ling, and Lan Fan all share a quiet look.

He turns to Ling. “You’re playing with fire.”

Ling shrugs, though he drops his gaze. “I’d say it’s less ‘playing’ and more ‘dodging furiously.’”

Ed digests that.

“We’re doing all we can to protect him,” Lan Fan says. Her eyes are gentle in a way Ed’s never been on the receiving end of. It makes him squirm. His eyes graze the gleaming hand of her metal arm, the only part visible beneath her sleeve. Coming from her, those words hold a lot of weight.

“Alright,” he nods. He’s not letting this go, by any means, but he trusts that these people he’s fought tooth and nail alongside know what they’re doing.

The rest of them seem to let out a collective breath. They slip back into easier conversation, Mei teasing Ling and Al about this and that. It’s…nice.

When they’ve finished all the food and the setting sun has sucked the light out of the sky, Al wraps him up in a firm hug.

"You're doing great," he murmurs. "If anybody can do this, it's you."

Ed fights the unexpected swell of emotion in his throat. He tightens his arms around his brother. "You're being sappy again," he murmurs back.

Al laughs and lets him go. "I'll see you tomorrow. If you can pencil me in."

Ed scoffs and elbows him in the ribs. "I don't know how Mei puts up with you."

Al shrugs. A love-struck smile blooms at the corner of his mouth.

Mei comes up and laces their hands together. "Come on, armor boy. We have alkahestry to learn."

“At eight p.m.?”

She tsks. “You’re behind.”

Ed smiles at them and watches them go.

“They’re happy,” Ling says from beside him.

“They deserve it.”

Ling gives him a sideways glance. “So do you, you know.”

Ed’s thoughts fizzle out. He doesn’t know what to say to that. In the end he digs his elbow into Ling’s ribs, eliciting a squawk. Ling turns and rifles his fingers through Ed’s hair, messing up his braid beyond repair. It brings them back to familiar ground, relaxing something in Ed’s chest. They chase each other around the garden while Lan Fan and Feng watch and commiserate. Theirs is a thankless job, truly.

+

Retiring to their shared room that night after Ling leaves him for the baths, Ed runs into someone on the stairs. It takes him a second to recognize her without her pink dress. Lady Wong, the councilor’s daughter.

She’s precariously balancing a large assortment of bottles in her arms. He spies dried petals in one and some sloshing tincture in another. If he had to guess, he’d wager they were alkahestry supplies.

“Your Imperial Highness,” she says, dark eyes widening and arms tightening around the bottles. She dips her head, unable to fully bow with all the things she’s carrying.

The honorific makes him squeamish, especially without Ling beside him to justify it.

“Lady Wong,” he says, dipping his head in return. He has no idea what the social etiquette of his station is, or how people generally do things in Xing. He feels stupid, which in turn makes him feel irritated. He hates feeling like an idiot.

“Forgive me,” she says, dropping her gaze, “I did not realize you would be walking this way, or else I would not have come here. I will remove myself.”

She begins to slip past him.

“Wait,” he says. She stops stiffly in her tracks and turns back around, eyes still cast low. “That’s not necessary.”

“Apologies,” she says. “I thought after my father’s recent behavior you would not want me in your presence.”

“Kids aren’t their parents,” he says before he can think better of it. He shouldn’t undermine Ling, especially not in front of the daughter of his biggest source of opposition. Asshole parents are a sore spot for him, though.

Lady Wong glances up, her eyes gleaming. “Thank you, sir,” she says softly. “I did not expect such kindness.” She breathes shakily. “The gossips said you were a warrior—merciless, ever since you were a child. I am…relieved to know differently.”

Ed doesn’t really know what to make of that. Is that what the empire really thinks of him? That he’s some villain from a far-off land come to terrorize them? Given Amestris’s past, he supposes he can’t really blame them.

“I have upset you,” Lady Wong says, her brows creasing. “I apologize.”

Ed shakes his head. “No, it’s— it’s nothing. I’ve held you up for too long. You’re free to go.”

The lady bows once more before continuing down the steps.

The phantom of their conversation lingers in her absence.

+

The next day is easier than the first (though Ed wakes up alone and feeling strangely heavy, like there’s something laid out over him like a blanket. He can’t put his finger on it). Ling sends a servant to his rooms to collect him. The woman leads him down a staircase to a huge hall with high windows and intricately paneled chandeliers. In the center is a gigantic circular table, fit for twenty or so people. The top gleams with crystal glasses and silver cutlery, the lot of it dotted with jade vases filled with pink flowers. Ling is the only person seated at the table. He smiles when he sees Ed enter.

“What’s all this about?” Ed asks, taking the seat Ling gestures to across from him.

“The wedding,” Ling says, flicking out a napkin and spreading it over his lap. “Apparently, even as an emperor you have to actually plan one. Ghastly, I know.”

Ed huffs, his mouth twitching.

“We’re meant to do a tasting for our reception dinner. That’s what Councilor Huang recommended, at least.”

Ed raises an eyebrow at the mention of a councilor.

Ling waves him off. “Huang’s alright. He hated the last emperor enough that he sees me as an upgrade.”

“High praise,” Ed says dryly.

Ling gives him a wry smile.

The doors open with ceremony and a trio of servants enters bearing porcelain platters teeming with dishes. They place the food in the massive divide between Ed and Ling, a dozen small, steaming plates. Glazed duck that shines like hard candy, steamed fish wrapped in bright green leaves. It all smells divine.

Ling picks up a pair of fine wooden chopsticks. “Hope you can still eat like you used to.”

Ed snorts derisively.

They devour the entire first course between them (Ed’s favorites are the charred pork and the dumplings, whatever savory concoction’s inside them), and then the servants enter as if magically summoned with new trays of food.

“This feels excessive,” Ed says, staring wide-eyed at the dozen new plates before him.

“Welcome to emperorship,” Ling responds. Then he stuffs a piece of fish into his mouth.

They eat companionably for a while, Ed honing in on a buttery, flaky piece of fish coated in a salty-sweet sauce, the panel of its seared scales glimmering in the muted light. Ling puts down his chopsticks and takes a long pull of his drink, eyeing Ed across the table.

“There’s more wedding things we ought to discuss.”

Ed swallows his current bite. “Alright. What sorts of things?”

“Well, the date is a big one. It would be best to make things official as soon as possible. Leaves the upstarts less time to craft together some dastardly plan.”

Ed snorts. “Okay. When are you thinking? Next week?”

Ling cringes. “I was thinking three days from now?”

Ed’s glad he wasn’t eating just then; he nearly chokes as is. “Three days?”

“I know it’s a bit absurd. The sooner we’re married, though, the safer you’ll be. They won’t be rid of you so easily then.”

Something fizzles warm in Ed’s chest. It’s ridiculous. Of course Ling wants to keep him safe. They’re friends, and they’re working towards a common goal. He shouldn’t be doing cartwheels over it.

“Alright,” he says, voice quiet with the shock of it all. Every time he thinks he’s managed to catch his footing in this scheme of theirs, circumstance comes and rips the rug out from under him. He wonders if he’ll ever find any kind of stability in these five years. The evidence so far isn’t very encouraging.

“Monday morning, then?” Ling says.

Married at twenty-one on a Monday morning. He feels a bit dazed. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Ed goes quiet for a second, his thoughts piling up against one another in the tinny atmosphere of his mind. “Um. What’s it…going to be like?”

“Public,” Ling says, looking rather put-out about it. “The ceremony is usually held on the front steps of the palace, with people from all over the empire travelling to attend. Since it’s such short notice, it’ll likely just be people from the local villages, like Wángguàn Village just below the palace. We’ll get hitched, have our reception banquet, and then make a show of retiring to our room that night. Then it’ll be over.”

Ed mentally hurtles over Ling’s point about them ‘retiring to their room,’ forcibly steering the conversation away. “Are there any traditions I should know about?” he asks. It’s something he’s been turning over in his mind. He doesn’t want to mess anything up, especially not with the empire watching, and especially not after Councilor Wong’s comment about Ling breaking tradition for him the other day.

Ling nods. “Good thinking.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and sets it on the table. Then he pushes back his chair and stands up, walking over to Ed’s side of the table.

Ed watches him with wary eyes. “What are you doing?”

Ling sinks into the chair beside him. “Teaching you,” he says, as if it’s perfectly obvious. He picks up the empty goblet from the unused place setting in front of him.

“The main part of the ceremony involves drinking from goblets. The two betrothed arrive to the ceremony with cup in hand.”

Ling gestures at Ed’s cup. Ed doesn’t like how close this feels to pretend, like they’re children having a tea party. He picks up the cup anyways, glowering for good measure. Ling stretches for the carafe of sweet wine sat in the center of the table. He pours a bit out for each of them.

“In the old days, people would hire craftsmen to make the cups specifically for their beloved. If they’d met under auspicious stars, they might emboss the metal with the constellations that had brought them together, or they might have it decorated in flowers to symbolize their betrothed’s beauty. People don’t do that much anymore,” Ling says, running his thumb over the etching along the lip of his cup. “I always really liked that tradition.”

Ling seems to sink into his thoughts.

“What happens next?” Ed asks, gently prodding him.

Ling blinks. “Then we bow four times. Once for heaven and earth, once for our ancestors, once for our parents, and once to each other. This last one symbolizes our agreement to always respect one another.”

Fat chance, Ed muses. Ling seems to be thinking the same thing—they catch each other’s eye and laugh.

“And then?”

“And then the officiator pulls the sacred ribbon out of their robes. We present our goblets and gift them to one other.”

Ling tips his goblet towards him and Ed takes it, exchanging it for his own. The stem is warm from Ling’s hand.

“The officiator ties the cups together to symbolize our bond,” Ling continues. He looks around for a second before his gaze settles on the tie around his waist. He pulls on the tail of it until it comes undone in his hand, a long, thin strip of lavender silk. He loops one end of it around the base of his goblet before doing the same to Ed’s. Their eyes meet.

“Then we drink honey and wine from them, vowing kindness, care, and equality.” Ling’s voice has taken on a strange, incantatory quality. The room feels still, like the whole world has stopped to listen. Ed watches as he dips his head to sip from his goblet, his dark eyes never wavering from Ed’s. Ed does the same, the wine bursting sharp and sweet across his tongue. When Ling pulls back, his lips gleam with a wash of deep red.

“The only thing left is to seal our vows with a kiss,” he murmurs.

Ed’s heart beats slow and heavy. The goblet in his hand doesn’t feel like pretend anymore. None of this does.

Ling’s eyes slip down and linger on his mouth. He wonders distantly if his lips are wine-stained too. He leans forward slightly, just a degree or two, caught up in a vast gravity much bigger than himself. His mind has been reduced to the red-violet sheen of Ling’s mouth and the way he can suddenly feel Ling’s breath against his skin.

“Ling,” he says softly.

“Hm,” Ling hums. His lips gently part.

“I—”

A frantic knocking echoes around the dining hall. Ed jumps in his seat, deeply startled. It feels like opening his eyes from a deep dream. Everything feels starkly real again in a way it hadn’t just a second ago.

Ling doesn’t startle. He just closes his eyes, a small crease appearing between his brows, and lets out a short breath.

“Yes?” he calls. He sounds tired suddenly.

Lan Fan appears out of the shadows of the room, her hand on the hilt of her blade. Ed’s throat dries up at the sight of her. He hadn’t realized she was there. He should have known, really. Wherever Ling goes, she does too. Ling can never be truly alone, meaning Ed can never truly be alone with him.

He feels all out of sorts.

The doors to the hall open and a mousy-looking servant walks through. Ed catches a quick glance of Feng on the other side of the doors before they fall shut again.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Imperial Majesty,” the servant says. They bow sharply, and Ed notices that their shoulders rise and fall rapidly. Did they run here?

“What is it?” Ling asks. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, scrubbing away the wine. A stone falls in the pit of Ed’s stomach. He leans back in his chair, erasing those scant few degrees forward he’d stolen.

The servant straightens, quickly pushing their hair out of their face. “The council has called a meeting.”

+

They walk into a war zone. Little factions of councilors yell at each other throughout the council chamber, their individual voices lost in the cacophony. Councilor Wong is markedly absent, though Ed would wager this is somehow still his doing.

Upon their arrival, attendants flanking an empty, ornate chair at the round table stomp their boots in unison and bang their staffs against the floor. The clamoring subsides into silence. Two dozen turn to them.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ling says, his voice carried by imperial authority, “but I’m pretty sure it’s the emperor who’s supposed to call the councilors together, not the other way around.”

Some of the councilors rankle. Others glare at their fellow members or drops their eyes guiltily.

Ling gestures at the empty chair. “And where’s the seat for the emperor consort?”

A councilor with a young face and graying temples steps forward. His phoenix medallion shines a little too brightly, as if he polishes it nightly. He bows respectfully to Ling, but when he rises his expression is stony. “We were not expecting the Amestrian to be included in our internal affairs, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“That’s quite the assumption,” Ling says. Ed picks up on the dangerous sharpness in his voice, though looking around the room it doesn’t seem many of the councilors do. “He’s about to make up half of the throne, is he not? Why would I shut him out of our politics?”

Ling turns to the attendants. “Another chair.”

One of them scrambles to grab a free chair from the other end of the table, bringing it round and setting it beside Ling’s. Ling tugs inconspicuously on his sleeve as he steps forward to take a seat. Ed follows his lead and sits beside him.

He meets the heavy gazes of the councilors as cool and unbothered as he can.

“What’s this about?” Ling says.

A woman with long hair pulled back in a low, swooping braid speaks. “Your Imperial Majesty, sir, it might be best if your— fiancé were to leave the room.”

“He stays,” Ling says resolutely.

The woman looks Ed over. It’s not a look of dislike. More of discomfort. Ed stares her down.

“As you wish,” she says. “Sir, certain members of the council have concerns about your upcoming marriage.”

Ling’s face hardens subtly. He arches an eyebrow in question.

The man with the graying temples speaks up. “Your Imperial Majesty, never has an emperor of Xing married outside the clans, not once in nearly three millennia. It goes completely against tradition.”

“Anything else?” Ling asks coolly.

Another councilor clears their throat. “I beg your pardon, Your Imperial Majesty, but this boy just appeared in Xing out of thin air. No one knows what to think. It’s all highly unusual.”

Yet another councilor, this one older with a pair of thick-rimmed circular spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, hums affirmingly. “There’s also the matter of his nationality. We’ve been fending off Amestrian interest for centuries now, and now a prominent member of their military comes waltzing in to take the second highest position of power in the empire? How can we trust his motives for this union?”

Ling turns to him. “Ed?”

Ed blinks in surprise, realizing Ling expects him to answer for himself. He turns to the councilor. “I’m not in the military anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.”

He glances at Ling.

“I’m not here on behalf of my country,” he reiterates.

The corner of Ling’s mouth turns up, subtle, secret, just for him. Ed’s heart thuds in his chest.

Simple as anything, he says, “I’m here for love.”

+

Ling manages to corral the rest of the meeting back into civility. Ed can clearly discern which councilors support him and which do not. Thankfully, it seems like his opposition is the minority.

The conversation drifts through various wedding topics, like the date they’ve only just established, who of the councilors and nobility will play what role, what traditions they’d like to honor. The woman with the braid asks whether they’ll be sharing the emperor’s rooms or living in separate suites. Ling tells her he’s having rooms put together for Ed should he want privacy, which only half answers her question. For once, Ed is thankful for his twistiness.

By the time they call the meeting to a close, the sun is beginning to sink in the sky. Ed is exhausted from navigating the minefield of their sham of a marriage, from the vitriol, the politics, the noise.

“I don’t know about you,” Ling says, following him out into the hall and pulling the chamber doors shut behind him, “but I could really use a drink after that.”

“If we weren’t already engaged, I’d marry you for that.”

Ling grins wryly at him.

He leads them up and up and up, Feng and Lan Fan trailing a polite (but ever vigilant) distance behind them. Ling catches a servant in the stairwell and asks him to bring a bottle of wine to the roof. When he scurries off, Ling turns to Ed and says, “Sorry to ruin the surprise.”

“The wine’s the most important thing,” Ed jokes half-heartedly. He can barely pull his feet up the stairs, he’s so tired.

“Glad we’re in agreement, then,” Ling says with a wink.

After a short eternity, Ling stops beside a shuttered window, reaching an arm across Ed’s chest to still him. Ling presses his hand to one of the shutters, but before he can open it Lan Fan intervenes.

“Nuh uh,” she says. “Don’t even think about it.”

Ling groans and drops his head. “You never let me do anything fun,” he grumbles.

“I let you get yourself into this mess, didn’t I?” She flicks her eyes between he and Ed. “I think that’s fun enough for a lifetime.”

Ling grouses something in Xingese. Lan Fan cuts him a quick glare, then presses open the shutter and slips gracefully outside. Feng steps closer to Ling and Ed in her absence.

She returns a few moments later, crouching just outside the window pane. “Clear.”

Ling says something else in Xingese and she rolls her eyes and stalks off. Ling hauls himself up onto the sill and steps out onto the roof before turning around and offering Ed his hand. Ed stares at it flatly before clambering up himself and ducking under Ling’s proffered arm. Ling laughs softly behind him.

The roof looks out onto the slope of the hill the palace sits on and the valley below. Ed can see lights far in the distance. That must be Wángguàn Village. In a few days the lives behind those little lights will filter past the palace gates for Ed’s wedding. It’s a heady thought. Married at twenty-one on a Monday morning with hundreds of strangers watching, and a royal court that hates him too.

Despite the impending doom of it all, the view is actually lovely in that mind-quieting way nature can be sometimes. The sun is just barely up, coloring the horizon a soft lilac color. Above that, the inky darkness is descending, with the moon and stars beginning to poke through. Tinging it all is the thick smell of night flowers. He looks around and sees that the treetops around him are littered with them. The faint moonlight above catches on their petals and makes them seem to glow.

It seems barely a moment has passed before there’s a nervous knocking behind him. He twists around to see the servant from earlier standing at the window, bottle in hand.

“Ah,” Ling says, crossing the roof to meet him, “perfect.”

He thanks the servant and closes the shutters, bringing the wine over.

“Have a seat,” he says. “The tiles are a bit rough, but it’s not too bad.”

For once, Ed does as he’s told.

Ling sits beside him, close enough that their thighs touch. Then he brushes his robe away from his ankle and draws a dagger from a hidden sheath there. Ed isn’t surprised really, though the placement isn’t what he would’ve expected. He watches as Ling outrageously stabs the cork and frees it from the bottle with a series of complicated maneuvers. He looks absurdly pleased with himself when he’s finished. Ed can only laugh.

Feng and Lan Fan disappear into the shadows like they always do. The illusion of privacy is better than nothing, Ed figures, though it’s a bit strange how quickly he’s resigned himself to it. Which is to say that when Ling takes a pull straight from the bottle and hands it to him to do the same, he feels hardly any of the shame he probably should as an emperor consort in the company of others.

They drink silently for a long while, the only sounds the dull screaming of the cicadas and the sloshing of the wine.

All of a sudden, in the nothing of it all, the heavy weight that’s been laid over him all day makes sense.

“Ling,” he says. “Do you know what today is?”

He turns his head. Ling gives him a questioning look. Clarity seems to hit him with the same inexplicable swiftness it did Ed; the line of his brows smooths in realization.

“Promised Day,” he says.

Ed nods and takes a long swig of wine. Half a decade come and gone.

On the rare occasion he was honest with himself growing up, he didn’t fully expect to make it here. The odds seemed so stacked against him back then. He was a parentless eleven-year-old with two limbs gone searching for things that people who had dedicated their whole lives to finding had failed to grasp. Later came the possibility that Alphonse would die despite all he’d done to save him and leave him completely alone (which wasn’t even a possibility—he wouldn’t survive without his brother). And then he was 16 and fighting against a god and all his monstrous, superpowered children. He should’ve died a hundred times over.

He tries his best not to think of it all as a mistake. It’s hard, though, thinking of all the years Al lost because of him. He’s heard all the hero shit—that it had to happen that way, or else what would have happened to the world? Ed and Al might not have joined the military, certainly wouldn’t have crossed paths with the homunculi in their quest for a philosopher’s stone, would never have possessed the knowledge necessary to defeat them and Father. He knows. It never makes any of it any easier.

He holds the bottle out to Ling, who takes a hard pull.

“I miss it sometimes,” Ling says quietly. Ed turns his heavy, leaden gaze on him. Ling glances at him, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in the maudlin ghost of a smile. “How it was there at the end. Campfires and quests and friendship. Greed. I know time has washed away some of how horrible it really was, but.” He laughs hollowly. “It was just…free.”

Ed doesn’t know what to say to that.

Ling takes another swig of the wine. “I’ve missed you.”

The admission scoops something vital out of Ed and leaves him raw. Alarmingly, he feels a prickly in his throat and heat in his eyes. “Then why didn’t you write?” he demands. To hell with how pathetic it makes him sound.

Ling won’t look at him. “I didn’t see the point. I was going back to Xing and taking over an empire, and you were staying in Amestris. You finally had a life again—no more monsters, no more war. You had your brother back. I didn’t— want to fuck that up.”

Ed laughs sharply. “By being my friend?”

The furrow in Ling’s brow deepens. He’s quiet for a moment, visibly turning things over in his head. “It would’ve been…painful. Talking, but being so far from you. After living in each other’s pockets for so long. That period of time meant a lot to me. _You_ meant a lot to me,” he says, finally sparing Ed a glance. Quietly, he adds, “Still do.”

They stare at one another in crystalline silence.

Ed’s thoughts are twisting themselves in knots. That sickly, burning lump in his chest wants so badly for Ling to mean what he thinks he might. Another part of him knows that Ling is lonely in a way few people are—that he’s been fighting an uphill battle largely on his own for far too long. That what this whole conversation has been about is how much he’s yearned for a _friend_.

Winry’s voice whispers across his consciousness: _I think you should tell him. Before the wedding._

He’d been about to do it, earlier in the dining hall. Now it seems like the most terrible idea in the world.

He slips the bottle free from Ling’s fingers and downs the last of it. I loved you, he wants to say. Still do.

“You’ve got me now,” he says instead.

Ling rests his head on the flat of his arm and looks at him for a moment. “For a while,” he says.

It’s a strange response.

“For a while,” Ed agrees.

The chill of the night sinks in deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took so long! had a bit of writer's block. hope the slightly longer-than-usual chapter makes up for it!
> 
> the wedding tradition stuff is a mix of actual chinese traditions from various eras and my own creative input. some of the symbolism was altered for this story and doesn't reflect historical basis.
> 
> also, i made a little illustration for this au which you can find here if you'd like: https://kaielle.tumblr.com/post/633149521407377408/ling-called-him-sweetheart-right-before-al 😊
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaielleart)
> 
> [tumblr](https://kaielle.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

Ed spends the night turning things over in his mind, plagued by thoughts of the wedding and Ling’s lesson in traditions. He thinks of their cups tied together, of Ling’s lips stained dark by the wine, of the potential energy thick in the air all around them. He dreams of a table full of goblets, each glistening with pools of drink.

In the morning, after Ling has left him for the day’s business, Ed pokes his head out of the rooms, turning his head to find Feng stationed just outside the doorway.

"Where's the nearest blacksmith?" he asks apropos of nothing.

Feng doesn't so much as raise an eyebrow. "Below the palace, at the base of the hill."

"Would you mind taking me there?"

Feng dips his head sharply in acquiescence.

He leads them out of the palace and down the hill, winding around buildings and bits of cultivated scenery. It's mind-boggling how sprawling this place is, all of it interconnected, large pieces of a gargantuan whole. Ed feels so small here. It's strangely nice in a way. He feels insignificant for the first time since arriving, like for a few moments he can step back into the nothingness of the past five years and just breathe.

They make it all the way to the jade pillars heralding the entrance to the palace complex before Feng pulls away towards a small cottage with a large, roofed outdoor workspace. No one's outside, so Ed walks up to the front door and knocks.

A man with shorn hair and a goatee answers, looking gruff and unapproachable. Ed knows gruff and unapproachable.

"Yes?" the man says.

"I need a cup made. Could you do that for me?"

The man looks at him with flat eyes. "A cup."

"A goblet, I think. For wedding vows."

The man's expression finally shifts, his eyebrows lifting. "A marriage? Now? You've got a death wish."

Ed stares at him in confusion. "Why?"

"The emperor's wedding is in just a few days. It's a sign of disrespect to marry within a moon of His Imperial Majesty."

Ed blinks at him. Hm. How best to proceed here…

"I don't think that will be a problem," he says.

He man narrows his eyes at him. Ed watches as he looks Ed over, taking in his blond hair and gold eyes. His lips press together in a flat line.

"Apologies," he says, bowing his head. "I did not have my wits about me. I should've realized who I was speaking with."

Ed shrugs. "If you can make this damned cup, all is forgiven."

"I would be honored."

Ed feels an unexpected sense of relief wash over him, loosening the line of his shoulders.

"Is there anything specific you had in mind?" the man asks.

The words sting his tongue. The thought of saying them aloud makes his face burn. "Um. I was thinking carnations. And flames."

The man levels him with a long, flat look. His title that had floored the man just a moment ago isn't enough to warrant him any dignity.

"That's a unique combination," the man says eventually.

Ed fights hard not to turn completely scarlet. "Yeah, well. Whatever. Can you do it or not?"

The corner of the man's mouth quirks. "Of course, Your Imperial Highness. Why don't you come inside and we can go over some designs?"

Ed nods and steps over the threshold, Feng at his heels.

+

Ling takes a recess from whatever urgent business he was attending and sends a servant to collect Ed for lunch. Ed is led to a bridge he’s yet to come across before, with a small blue-green pond below it dotted with algae and lily pads. Ling sits on the bridge like a young boy, his legs dangling through the slats of the railing. Ed fights down a smile.

Ling hears his footsteps on the wood slats and turns to him, smiling that grin of his that squishes his cheeks into his eyes. Ed’s careful to keep his expression placid, just a small, respectable smile at the corner of his mouth. He plops down beside him, though he crosses his legs against the wood rather than kick them over the edge. Ling lifts the lid off an ornate dining tray and sticks a pair of chopsticks into a bowl of noodles before handing it over to him.

They chat about this and that, catching each other up on their mornings. Ed doesn’t have much to say, considering he’d like to keep his trip to the blacksmith a secret for as long as possible. He’s pretty embarrassed by it. Ling will know soon enough, considering the wedding’s in two days, but that’s a problem for his future self, assuming he actually presents the goblet to him and doesn’t talk himself out of it.

When Ed finishes his lunch, a servant appears as if called telepathically and takes the dishes from them. When they’re alone again, Ling turns to him and asks, “How about a walk?”

Which is how he finds himself climbing uphill with his robes clutched in his hands like a maiden in a fairytale, trailing after Ling with Feng and Lan Fan on his heels. Eventually they emerge from various shrubbery on to a hidden viewpoint of sorts that looks down on the front of the palace. Ed watches as people walk up and down the steps, their hands full of offerings and wares. He recognizes certain council members and a few of the servants.

“I come up here sometimes, when things feel a bit much,” Ling admits. “It’s nice to look down at it all from a distance, to see how big and how small everything is.”

Ed hums in understanding.

“This is where the wedding will be held, right?” he asks.

Ling nods from beside him. “For the gods and all the blessed people of Xing to look upon.” It sounds like a quote, but from what Ed doesn’t know.

He imagines himself in two days’ time, standing at the top of these steps in the opulent wedding clothes of an emperor consort. He sees the sacred ribbon being tied around their two cups, Ling’s goblet covered in flames and carnations, forged with all the love he can’t find it in himself to say out loud. They drink each other’s wine, and then they lean forward and—

Ed blinks, clearing away the daydream like smoke from the air. He can’t think about that now. Not standing right beside Ling.

A bright peal of laughter rings out from the distance, catching his attention. He focuses his eyes and sees a small child skipping down the steps. Their robe is dyed a vivid blue, suggesting a wealthy family. They weave around busy servants and tradespeople, garnering shouts from some. A woman hurries after the child and scoops it up in her arms. The child laughs again, loud with delight.

“Think they’re celebrating Daddy’s vacation?” Lan Fan says, startling Ed.

Ling snorts. “I would be. That’s probably the most freedom Qi Yu has ever had.”

Ed raises his eyebrow in question. Ling nods at the pair on the steps. “That’s Qi Yu, Councilor Wong’s youngest son.”

Ed blinks in surprise. “So the woman is—”

“Lady Wong, yes.”

It’s hard to tell from so far away. The figure is certainly the same, tall and slim.

A question Ed’s been meaning to ask surfaces from the murky waters of his mind. "Why did Wong think you and his daughter were such a done deal?"

A minute twitch runs across Ling's face, a ripple in a pond. He turns around to face Feng and Lan Fan. “Can you give us a minute?”

The two of them bow in frightening sync with each other. They walk off a good ten feet to the side of the viewpoint, keeping Ed and Ling in their sights.

Ling turns back to him. His behavior has garnered Ed’s undivided attention. Not that he ever has anything less. "We grew up together,” he says. “Our two clans were close and would intermingle often. As the eldest siblings of our respective families, we were thrown together for every holiday, every wedding, every war council. She was quiet as a girl—hard to really get to know, especially considering what an awful little goblin I was at that age—but lovely enough."

Ed's chest hurts, bittersweet. The image of Ling as a boy, terrible and bullheaded as Ed was, has the warmth of a smile blooming at the corner of his mouth. He can picture him so clearly: tall for his age but scrawny, thin as a weed, with beautiful hair kept too long for his recklessness. He would've been mischievous and clever, quick to laugh but even quicker to compose himself—ever the dutiful son. In that regard he and Ed were different. Ed's authority issues ran deep like roots. He grew from their foundation.

"Lovely enough" though—the thought of Ling looking at Lady Wong in a considering light feels like a dull knife slowly pushing between his ribs. Knowing that half the council and most of the court wishes they could do away with Ed and make Lady Wong their Empress Consort he can handle. Ling feeling the same, though… The idea of it draws a cold shadow over him.

"My disinterest came as quite a shock to everyone. It's not her fault, of course. My tastes lie elsewhere."

Ed barely registers what he’s said, sunken as deep as he is in that numb void. The words sink in and shake him back to life; he turns to Ling in confusion. "They do?"

Ling looks back at him, confusion etching across his own face. His eyes flit back and forth between Ed's, his lips parting in question. He looks unsettled. Upset, even. "Do you not─" He cuts himself off, searching Ed's face intensely. It doesn't seem like he finds what he's looking for; he looks away, his brow furrowed deep. It takes a long moment for him to continue. "I have no interest in women, Ed."

Ed forgets himself for a moment. Forgets how to blink, move, emote. His mind tunnels down to a single point. It consumes him entirely. _I have no interest in women._

"Me neither," he says, the words slipping out of him unformed, as if he isn't the one speaking them at all. The spell breaks slowly. He blinks.

Ling stares at him. "I mean romantically, Ed."

Ed's brows pull together in a scowl. "Yeah, I know, asshole."

Ling looks away, gazing out at nothing. Eventually he just says, "Huh."

Ed isn't sure how to take that. It isn't exactly the euphoric epiphany he hoped it would be.

There's an awkward beat of silence.

"But you and Winry…?" Ling asks. There's a tentativeness about it, like he doesn't want to upset him.

Ed stares hard at his own feet. "We figured it out around the same time. She broke up with me, said she wanted me to go out and find the love I deserved." He scuffs his shoe against the dirt.

Softly, Ling says, "You always seemed so in love when you spoke about her."

"I didn’t know what love really was back then."

Ling catches his gaze. "And now?"

Ed's presses his teeth together hard.

"Now I'm older," he says. It's not what Ling asked, but it's the only answer he can give.

A long moment passes in silence. Ling seems sunken in his own thoughts. He huffs out a laugh, and Ed looks at him questioningly. Ling indulges him: "I used to think we were so different when we were kids, you know? Now that we're older it's like all I do is run face-first into our similarities."

Ed thinks about it and laughs as well. Two bullheaded, lonely, self-sacrificing gay assholes.

"I hate all this adult wisdom shit," he says, running a tired hand down his face. His heartbeat is fluttery in his chest. He tries his best to ignore it. "It was so much easier just punching things."

Ling claps his back in sympathy. Then he shakes a fist at the sky, losing his battle against the smile twitching at his lips. "Curse this fully developed brain."

Ed snickers. Whatever weird moment that surfaced between them has effectively been dragged back down to the depths, as these moments always are. Ed's grateful for it. Jokes are good, jokes are familiar. All these moments they keep stumbling into—the earnest gazes, the yawning silences—make him feel like he's teetering off the edge of the world. He doesn't know what waits below him, and he'd rather not find out.

+

Eventually Ling has to return to his duties, and they part ways. Ed explores the main section of the palace, exploiting his newfound impunity as co-leader of a goddamn empire to trespass freely. He drifts through war rooms, libraries, kitchens, armories, before finally installing himself for the afternoon in a private study. That’s how Ling finds him at the end of the day, reading a translated book of Xingese history with his slippered feet propped up on top of an antique desk that’s certainly worth more than all of Ed’s (limited) assets put together. His hair is loose around his shoulders for the first time in god knows how long—he was starting to get a headache from how tight his orderly, palace-approved braid was.

"Your rooms are ready," Ling says, forgoing his usual smug greeting.

Ed looks up at him, his brow furrowing. "My what?"

Ling's face is oddly composed—no smirk, no wrinkling of his forehead, just a cool blank expression.

"Your private rooms that I had made up for you," he says. “It’s been a few days longer than I said it would be. I apologize.”

Ed fights the embarrassment that surges through him. Right, the whole reason he and Ling had shared a bed for the last three nights was that Ed didn't have his own set of rooms yet. He'd gotten used to it so quickly.

"Oh," he says. "Those."

The corner of Ling's mouth twitches. At least it's something. "C'mon. I'll show you."

Ed stands up and follows him out of the room, winding up a staircase and down a hallway. He recognizes the vast sparsity here—this is the floor Ling's rooms reside on. It makes something unpleasantly pleasant fizzle in his chest.

Ling stops outside of a wide set of doors, guards positioned on either side of them armed with blades on their hips and staffs in their hands. Ed looks to Ling, who gestures at the doors. The guards dip their heads sharply and thud the butts of their staffs against the floor, impressively in sync. Then they push open the doors.

Ed stares at the space sprawled out before him. It takes him a moment to remember this is all for him, that he's meant to get a look at it. He steps inside.

When Ling said rooms, plural, he meant it. Ed finds himself in a sitting room of sorts, with a set of leather chairs set on an intricate blue and yellow rug in front of a big fireplace. There's a large, cushioned seat built into an arched window along the back wall with a tall bookshelf half-full of books erected beside it. The walls are a muted maroon color, soft and warm rather than aggressive. A door is open to his left, revealing a tiled floor. Probably a bathroom then. Which means the cracked door at the back of the room leads to the bedroom.

He turns to Ling, who's leaning against the doorframe, the light from the hall spilling in around his silhouette. "You could've shoved me in a coat closet, you know. You didn't have to do all this."

Ling huffs out a laugh. "Can't have the emperor consort sleeping with the dusty winter coats, now, can we? That's bad press."

Ed hums in response, his eyes trailing over the walls.

"Go look at the bedroom," Ling tell him. "Let me know if it's not to your liking."

Ed gives him an amused look. "Yeah, okay," he says, shaking his head. He walks off towards the bedroom door and pushes it open.

The walls here are a soft butter yellow that seems to filter the light in the room into a gentle glow. Gauzy curtains hang over the window and flirt with the wood floor. There's a modest desk complete with pens and stationery pressed into the corner. The bed, thank god, is not a giant, enclosed monstrosity like Ling's, though it does have four ornately carved posts that look vaguely like shooting stars and enough pillows and blankets to supply the whole Amestrian military. He walks over and sits on it, running his hand over the fine satin quilt laid on top. There are little embellishments dotted across the fabric, tiny golden suns and stars. He sends up a silent prayer to the universe that they aren't made of real gold.

His hand drifts idly to the middle of the bed and a strange feeling jolts over him, there and gone quicker than he can blink. Surprised, he stares intently at the spot on the bed, rubbing his fingers against it. The feeling passed so quickly he's having trouble placing what exactly it was. There was something vaguely electric about it; he shoves back the long, draping sleeve of his robes and finds the hair on his arm standing on end. The sensation of it was familiar—something he's experienced before. As he sits there, his brows knitting together, the answer circles around his mind, always dancing just out of his reach. There's a small kernel of certainty within him that whatever it was, it wasn't anything good.

He trails his hand back and forth over the same spot but nothing happens. Consumed, he peels back layer after layer of the bed covers, running his hands over them in search of that electric pulse and finding nothing. He lifts up the mattress and flattens himself to the floor to look under the bed frame. Still nothing—no traces of alchemy or strange anomalies. Just a normal bed.

Feeling drained and confused, he sits down on the floor, his robes spilling around him. That's how Ling finds him a moment later when he walks through the doorway. He blinks down at Ed before panning to the bed, taking in the disarray.

"I take it the bedding wasn't to your liking."

Ed opens his mouth to say something but stops, turning the words over in his mind. What's he supposed to say? Sorry I ripped the bed apart like a feral dog, I had a bad case of déjà vu? "Sorry," he says. "I thought there was something, but…"

Ling lifts an eyebrow. "But?"

Ed shakes his head. "Guess I'm going crazy."

Ling walks over and sits down beside him, surprising him. Ling turns his head and meets Ed's eyes. His expression is warm, a sharp juxtaposition to the teasing Ed was expecting. "Emperorship will do that to you," Ling says.

Ed smiles faintly. His heart isn't in it. He feels more and more like he's coming undone, like the pressures of this new life are threatening to unmake him.

"Can I ask what you thought was wrong?" Ling asks, stealing him from his thoughts. Ed realizes that his head, resting against the wall, has lolled to the side. Another inch and it'd be resting on Ling's shoulder. He straightens up.

"It was just a bad feeling," he says, lowering his gaze to the safety of his hands. "Not really sure what it was. Sorry for making a mess of things. Real nice of me to fuck up this room you just spent three days putting together for me."

"Technically, I didn't lift a finger," Ling says. "It was actually the servants' hard work you just demolished."

Ed glowers at him. Ling just laughs and nudges him with his elbow. "It's fine, Ed. Really. Nothing to get all angsty about."

Ed's eyebrows climb. He blinks several times. "Angsty?" he echoes, his voice tinny to his own ears.

Ling's mouth twitches, poorly battling what is clearly amusement. A snicker escapes. Ed snaps—he twists and goes to punch Ling hard in the arm. Ling capitalizes on the sharp reflexes he honed as a boy, though, and catches his fist as easily as a ball lobbed his direction.

Ed freezes. His heartbeat turns sluggish and loud, unignorable all of a sudden. Ling's fingers are wrapped around his hand with a strength he didn’t expect. There's a stalwart firmness there, a sense of stability. It says: this man cannot be moved. Ed feels some of the frantic energy that had overcome him drain away.

"I know I shouldn't tease you," Ling says. His smile softens even further, small and gentle. "I've always loved how you get when all you're riled up, though. The way your eyes flash. It's hard to resist."

The sound of Ed's breathing is suddenly loud to his own ears. He rummages around his brain for something to say, something to do, but he comes up empty-handed. There's no precedent for this—for the warmth spreading through his chest, his insides gone tender as a bruise.

"It's why I always provoked you when we were kids," Ling continues. His voice is quieter now, as if they were having a private conversation in a crowded room, meant for just the two of them. His thumb drifts over Ed's hand, idly tracing the outside of his palm. Ed watches the movement of it. "I'd never met someone with a fuse like yours before. So exposed. So explosive. I was always taught to mask my emotions, so no one could use them against me. It was so thrilling back then to light a match and watch you burn."

Ed swallows against the dryness of his throat. "So it had nothing to do with the fact you were a giant brat?"

Ling laughs. It's Ed's favorite kind, the sort where his eyes wrinkle at the corners and his one barely-there dimple appears in his cheek.

"Well, maybe a little," he says, his smile turning wry.

Ling's grip on his hand loosens, his fingers slowly unravelling from around his fist. Instead of pulling away, though, his fingers drift down Ed's hand and linger at his wrist, his thumb resting over his pulse point.

"I have something for you," he says.

Ed blinks at him, his brain glitching at the sudden change of topic. His brows slowly cinch together. "You do?"

Ling nods, his gaze falling. "It's part of a traditional courtship. Gift-giving, I mean."

Ed frowns at that. "I didn't know that. I don't have anything for you." He thinks of the plans for the goblet that he left with the blacksmith just that morning. His timing, as always, is shit.

Ling smiles. "Lucky for you, that's not really the point of gift-giving, is it?"

Ed narrows his eyes at him, unsure of what exactly is happening here.

Ling lets out a breath and pulls something out from a hidden pocket within his robes with the hand that isn't still inexplicably holding him. It's a little bundle of yellow fabric, embroidered all over with red thread. It reminds Ed of an ornate handkerchief. Ling holds it out to him, and he takes it gingerly. Immediately the weight of it surprises him. There's something inside, something fairly hefty for its size. Carefully he untucks the edges of the fabric. His breath lodges itself in his chest.

Inside is a golden hair comb. It takes up most of the size of his palm, with long, delicate teeth and a tall band. The band is decorated with dozens of flowers done in gold filigree. Overlaid on top of them is the swooping figure of a bird with a gracious neck and long, trailing tail feathers, the ends of which look as though they're turning into a ball of fire. It's crested all over in red gemstones of various hues, its eyes a dark crimson. He rubs his thumb over it gently. A phoenix.

He looks up at Ling. He doesn't know what to say. Under his gaze, Ling's ears turn a dusky red.

"I hope it doesn't offend you," Ling says, sounding astoundingly unsure of himself for once. It scrambles what little of Ed's cognitive abilities he'd been able to piece back together. "It's been in my family for hundreds of years. It's tradition for Yao men to present this to their fiancés, as it's supposed to bring divine blessing upon the marriage. No one's ever been, um— that is to say that I'm the, uh, the first—"

Ed twists his wrist in Ling's grip and grabs his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Ling's words peter out. "It's beautiful," Ed says.

Ling's expression is oddly vulnerable, innocent in a way Ed isn't sure he's ever seen before. "You have such lovely hair," he says quietly.

This time it's Ed who turns red.

Ling reaches out with his free hand and lays it on top of the comb. "May I?" he asks.

It makes Ed feel hot and shifty. He wants to say no, afraid of what might happen, of the awkwardness that may follow. Instead, he finds himself nodding.

Ling scoops up the comb in careful fingers. He gently tugs his other hand free from Ed's grasp, and then he lifts it to Ed's temple and brushes back a long forelock of hair. His fingers rake pleasantly across his scalp, and Ed's eyes flutter in spite of himself. He'd forgotten how nice it was to have his hair played with. It was something his mother used to do for him when he was a boy. It's…disarming.

Ling pulls the hair back and slides the comb into place. It's a cool and heavy weight against his head, and it leaves him feeling off-balance, with one half of his face exposed.

Ling’s hand falls away. His eyes drift from the comb to Ed’s. “It suits you,” he says with a soft smile.

Ed can’t speak. He just looks back at him, feeling a hundred things at once.

“I’m glad it’s you, you know,” Ling says. Ed feels on the verge of total collapse, like the pillars that construct him are shaking dangerously, dust and debris raining down. Ling continues the assault: “That you’re the one that has this.” He brushes a finger over the taught line of Ed’s hair and taps the comb pressed against his skull.

Ling never says what he means. It’s something Ed’s known about him from the beginning. He prefers misdirection, metaphor, verbal scavenger hunts. He guesses it’s something he picked up as a kid, immersed in a bloodthirsty brawl for succession. He always had to be cool and collected, which meant any and all emotions had to be run through a filter until they were unrecognizable. He knows what he would like Ling to mean right now. He’s just not sure he can trust that, what with the Ling-shaped yearning he’s got trapped inside his chest like a rabid animal.

He thinks back to Kanama. How it had felt in that first instance when Ling had kissed him, stars so far away and so much greater than him aligning. How it had felt when Ling had pulled back and run away, never to speak of it. How it had felt when the war ended and day after day passed with no word from him. He doesn’t know if he can stomach losing Ling again if he’s wrong about this, not after the horrible miracle of these past few days by his side. To spend the rest of these five years with the awkward shadow of Ed’s feelings looming over them, with Ling avoiding him as much as possible, eagerly counting down the days until Ed’s gone, sounds so torturous it nearly breaks him then and there.

“I’m late,” he finds himself saying. He stands up abruptly, displacing Ling’s gentle touch from his head and leaving him to look down at him. His pulse beats like a hummingbird in his throat. “I have to meet up with Al.”

Ling looks up at him. His mouth closes, lips pressing together in a way that sends Ed spiraling internally into agony. “Oh,” he says. The agony grows heavier. “I won’t keep you then.”

Ed nods sharply and then flees the room, having to step over Ling’s legs on his way towards the door. He makes it through the rest of his rooms to the hallway, stepping out into what feels like another universe. He turns his head and finds Feng. “I’m leaving,” he says, his breath tight in his chest.

Feng, the blessed professional that he is, does not move his gaze from Ed’s face, despite the block of unimaginable wealth currently poking out of his hair. He nods in understanding, and Ed resumes his flight.

+

He doesn’t wind up going to Al. Instead he follows his feet back to the telephone room, just as empty as before, and curls up in the armchair. Resting his chin on his knee, he stares blankly into the fire burning in the hearth, thoughts building up inside his head like smoke. Is he going to be able to go through with this? He feels pathetic for thinking it, but this marriage thing doesn’t seem as easy as it did at the beginning. That was just a few days ago, though it feels hard to believe. The part that makes him feel the most like shit is that they’re not even married yet. He’s having emotional breaks on the daily and this is just the preliminary stage. How’s he meant to do this when it all becomes real in just a couple days?

He spirals like this, deeper and deeper, for god knows how long. Then there’s a quiet rap on the door.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Feng says through the wood, “Lady Wong is here. She’d like a word.”

Ed closes his eyes. He prays for an aneurysm.

“Alright,” he calls. He forces his hands to unlock from around his shins and unfolds his legs, pressing his feet to the floor in mockery of an adult who has his shit together. He’s just straightened his spine and let a shaky breath out through his nose when the door opens and Lady Wong slips in. She looks alike a bouquet of flowers, her robes blue, purple, and pink, and she’s carrying a tea tray in her steady hands.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Imperial Highness,” she says, and she manages a perfect bow without the tray so much as trembling. He guesses that’s what growing up a courtier does for you. “I saw you in the hall a little while ago and you looked as if you could use some tea.”

The door closes and Ed looks over her shoulder to see that Feng has stepped inside, his eyes glued to Lady Wong.

“That’s kind of you,” Ed says, and though his voice falls flat, he means it. The gesture is utterly unexpected, and he’s having trouble processing it.

“May I?” she asks, gesturing with the tray to the small side table beside his chair.

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

She walks forward and places it atop the table.

Ed musters up his underdeveloped manners. “Please, sit.”

“As you wish,” she says, bowing her head. Then she comes and sits down beside him, fixing her skirts around her. She turns to the table between them and lifts the ceramic teapot, pouring out two cups of floral-smelling tea with poised hands. When she offers one to Ed, he hesitates.

“I know many see poison as a woman’s weapon,” she says with a smile, taking a sip of her tea, “but you won’t find any in that cup.”

Abashed, Ed takes the cup from her with a nod of thanks. He can’t bring himself to take a sip from it, so he lets it warm his hands instead.

“I may be quite different from you, Your Imperial Majesty, as a woman and one who was born and bred from this game of succession, but I believe I understand at least a little of what you’re going through. I could be a friend, if you’d have me, or at least a listening ear.”

Ed meets her eyes. There’s much he cannot say, and even more that he wouldn’t speak of even with a gun pressed to his head. She seems to read his thoughts, inclining her head.

“Friendship is a two-way street, of course,” she says. “Is there anything you’d like to know, about me or otherwise?”

Ed’s surprised. There’s much he’s curious about, actually, though most of it embarrassingly involves Ling.

She gives him a knowing look. “You can ask about him. It won’t offend me.”

Ed’s grip on himself is slipping if a stranger can read him so easily. His mind slips back to his earlier conversation with Ling, though, about he and Lady Wong’s intertwined childhoods. He weighs the words on his tongue before asking, “What was he like when he was a kid?”

She scoffs. “Horrible. A mischievous, two-faced little brat, made all the worse by his cleverness. Nobody ever believed me when I told them of the pranks he pulled on me. He was always so serious with the adults, you see, so mature and obedient. I wanted to push him off a balcony and watch him roll down the palace hill into oblivion.”

Ed snorts at that. It’s a feeling he’s quite familiar with.

“Though he could be surprisingly kind, too,” she continues, her eyes softening. “Once I accidentally embarrassed my father in front of the council and a few foreign dignitaries. I knew he would be furious with me, so I ran off into the royal gardens and climbed up a tree there to hide. My father sent all the bored boys at court to hunt me down so he could box my ears. His Imperial Majesty found me in that tree, saw the tear tracks on my face and the scrapes on my knees. He turned around and left me there. I thought for certain that he was going to sell me out to my father. Instead the sun sunk from the sky and I was left alone. He came back later and snuck me into his sister’s house to spend the night. My father still boxed my ears when I inevitably came home, of course, but His Imperial Majesty’s comradery made it more bearable.”

The story warms and saddens him in equal measure. His father was an absent piece of shit, but at least he never hit them.

He works up the courage to ask what he’s really curious about. “Were you two ever formally engaged?”

She shakes her head. “His parents tried to push him into it, but he was the heir apparent for his family, and he was rather adamant in his refusal. He was allowed to do as he pleased, so long as he came back from the West with the means to secure the throne.”

There’s no sadness in her voice, no blush coloring her cheeks. He can’t tell if it’s because she really doesn’t care, or if her high breeding is showing, her true emotions concealed beneath the unaffected veneer that court seems to instill in people here.

“He was different when he came back, you know. Less boyish and self-indulgent. Now that I’ve met you, I can see you in that version of him. He clearly values you very much.”

Ed, with his utter lack of civility and refinement, feels himself color to the roots of his hair. Lady Wong is gracious enough not to laugh, though whether it’s because of an innate kindness or because of his title he doesn’t know.

“You’re tough,” she says. “He wouldn’t admire you so much if you weren’t. You’ll make it through all this nastiness with the court and the council, and they’ll respect you all the more for it. Don’t let them trouble you so much. They’re just a bunch of old, cranky bastards anyway.”

Ed cracks a smile at that. She smiles back. Then she sets her empty teacup on the tray and motions for him to do the same. He does as he’s bid, embarrassed by the fullness of his cup. Lady Wong makes no mention of, though, standing up gracefully with the tray in her hands. She bows, making to leave. Quickly, Ed says, “Thank you. Your kindness is…much appreciated.”

“Of course, Your Imperial Highness. I’m around if you ever need me.”

Ed nods and she turns to leave. Feng opens the door for her, and she disappears down the hallway.

Ed sinks back into his chair, twisting his palms into his eyes.

“Are you alright, sir?” Feng asks, unusually familiar with him.

Ed drops his palms and hums in response. “Fine,” he says. At best, it’s half-true.

He pushes himself up out of the chair and stretches, the bits of his spine cracking in succession like a line of firecrackers. “Let’s go find my brother,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a hot minute! i got my first adult job (kill me) and haven't had a whole lot of free time, but rest assured i haven't abandoned these dumbasses. i hope the absurd amount of flirting and dialogue on display here was a satisfying enough offering for uhhhh three months of absence 🥴 thank you so much for following this story in its fits and starts! i love you guys sm and am so, so happy to be posting again.
> 
> prepare yourselves for a harsh change of scene next chapter: actual plot.
> 
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**Author's Note:**

> any canon plot discrepancies are uhhh part of the au. okay? okay.


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